


Precipice of Change

by theatricalbutbashful



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Angst and Feels, Banter, But it gets better!, Chant of Light (Dragon Age), Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Lore, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Female Hero of Fereldan, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Follows Canon, Hardened Leliana (Dragon Age), How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas Fluff (Dragon Age), Mage Lavellan - Freeform, Magic, Magisters, Minor Canon Deviations, My Attempts at Writing Fight Scenes, My Character Choices, My First Work in This Fandom, Novelization, Occasional violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Lavellan (Dragon Age), Perhaps a rocky start, Red Lyrium, Second Fanfic!, Skyhold (Dragon Age), Solavellan Hell, Spirit Cole (Dragon Age), Spirits, The Chantry (Dragon Age), The Fade, Thedas (Dragon Age), Typos Abound, Work In Progress, inconsistent chapter length, my own weird sense of humor, some dark plotlines, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 340,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatricalbutbashful/pseuds/theatricalbutbashful
Summary: After a devastating explosion at the Conclave peace talks, Dalish mage Suledin Lavellan is thrust into a world she was not prepared for. Risen up as a savior to a god she doesn't believe in, Suledin struggles to carve a path through the chaos. Alongside a mismatched group of unlikely allies and friends, Suledin must stop an ancient Tevinter magister who thinks himself a god, all the while coming to terms with the fact that the world isn't what she thought it was, and that her life as a proud Dalish wanderer may not be as honorable as she'd assumed.A Dragon Age: Inquisition novelization!





	1. The Wrath of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note! This was primarily written for those who have played the Dragon Age trilogy, but I tried very hard to write it so that even a non-DA fan could read and understand what was happening. If anyone has any questions, though, about the plot or world of Thedas, feel free to ask! I love talking about DA! I'm sorry for any typos! I tried to be diligent as I edited, but I'm sure a fair share slipped through. I'm so excited! I hope you all like it!!

Several things alert me to the fact that I’m awake, and none of them are particularly pleasant.

Firstly, there’s the inane dripping from somewhere behind me that promises to drive me to the brink of insanity in a mere matter of moments. It’s too fast to be a leak, too slow to be running water, which leaves me to assume it _must _be deliberate. If so, tactic _very _successful.

I grit my teeth to the noise upon waking, my nerves on edge from the inconsistent tap.

Secondly, my knees feel tight and cramped. I realize slowly that this is because I’m kneeling against a stone floor. Some equally hard surface props me up, the cold stone biting into my shoulder and forehead unforgivingly.

Thirdly, and most pressingly, my left hand aches. It burns with all the heat of a fire and stings with the slice of a blade. It reminds me dully of the first time I tried to conjure lightning—wildly unsuccessfully. Keeper Deshanna had healed it quickly, but the memory of pain has stuck with me.

I open my eyes slowly to see the damage and gasp in the dark room. 

Which brings me to the fourth thing.

My hands are cuffed together tightly, my wrists aching from the rigidity of the constraints. The coldness from the iron seeps into my skin, pressing persistently against bone.

Something in the room crackles like magic, and my hand begins to hurt more. I gasp and close my eyes tightly, struggling against the cuffs as if to ease the pain. Green light floods the blackness of my eyelids, blinding me, and I recoil sharply, pushing up off the column. A whispered cry is pulled from my chest and then the pain disappears, fading again.

I open my eyes to find the source of the green light as it fades, but I see no torches or braziers that could have produced such a glare.

I hurriedly look at my hand to find the source of the pain—the cut or burn that aches so much. I stare in shock as green light flares again, and I jerk back away from my hand so hard that I slide off the pillar beside me and collide with the stone floor beneath. I cry out in surprise, scrambling back once when I realize that _it _is the green light I saw; _it _is the source of magical energy in the air.

“Mythal,” I gasp, staring at my hand.

It’s obviously _magic_—but it’s unlike any I’ve ever seen or heard of. Keeper Deshanna never mentioned anything of its kind, and I never saw her cast anything even _remotely _similar.

Magic continues to crack in the air, but the light begins to fade again, and the pain stops as quickly as it started.

_Mythal_, what in the—

The door across from me bursts open with a startling crash, and I recoil from the bright light of a torch. I sit up quickly to identify my…jailors?

Two women stand silhouetted in the doorway, one of them clutching the torch high above her head. She moves it to a placeholder beside her, and the room brightens enough for me to see them. And to realize that I have never before seen them in my life—and I would know; I have a good memory for faces.

One has short black hair with a single long braid wrapped around her head like a lopsided crown. Shadows fall below her sharp cheekbones; her features are curved into a hard, cold stare as she glares at me, her eyebrows low over her dark eyes. A scar dances thickly across her left cheek as she works her jaw. Her hand rests on the sword at her waist, and I find the implication persuasive enough to not move.

The second woman watches me expressionlessly. Her face is kind, but there’s a deep darkness in her eyes that alarms and unsettles me. Her long, purple cloak sheathes her hair, but a few short, fiery strands fall forward to her cheeks. Her eyes are bright and inquisitive—decisive and ominous. I realize at once why her expression disturbs me more than her counterpart: hers are the eyes of a predator who knows her prey has been caught. More than that, she does not look content to feast; she wants to play first.

She moves her hands behind her back, and I lift my chin, waiting for whichever one will start the interrogation or abuse. I’m not unfamiliar with stories of what humans like to do with their Dalish prisoners.

The black-haired woman steps further into the room. At once, several swords ring out in the silence, giving me the second shock of a lifetime when I realize I have not been alone this whole time. I turn to see four long blades levelled at me, their owners bathed in shadows that hide their features.

I look up at the woman before me uncertainly. I run through a quick list of possibilities, and all of them terrify me, though I do not allow myself to show it. The Circle goes high on my list of fears, but neither of them has the look of a templar. Well, maybe the black-haired woman, on second thought.

She circles me slowly, and I watch her out of the corners of my eyes, unwilling to turn away from the red-haired woman at the door. Her eyes don’t leave mine, her expression still quietly calculating my fate. I want to ask whether she intends a quick or slow death, but I refuse to speak first. I’m also afraid the black-haired woman might lop my head off if I dare make light of the situation, so I keep my lips sealed, waiting for the explanation for all this to present itself.

The black-haired woman leans over my shoulder, speaking loudly and angrily into my ear. I jerk back involuntarily from the loud sound after so much silence. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she orders.

Her rich, low voice reverberates off the walls, echoing her demand in my ears, which only adds to the increasingly terrible headache I’ve begun to develop. Her accent I recognize as Nevarran, which puts me at a complete loss as to where I am. I’ve no memory of traveling to Nevarra. I feel like that would sort of stick out. 

“The Conclave is destroyed,” she continues, moving to the red-haired woman’s side again. “Everyone is _dead_. Except for _you_.”

My heart skips a beat, and my eyes widen as I remember a long room, mages and templars glaring at each other from opposite sides—a woman in a long white robe and tall white and gold cowl, a sunburst design embroidered on her clothes. A peace negotiation for the raging civil war, meant to be had on neutral, holy ground—the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Keeper Deshanna asked me to attend, indicating she feared what impacts the deals may have on all elves, not just those in the mages’ and templars’ war paths.

“Wh-what do you mean everyone is dead?” I stutter uncertainly. 

The last thing I remember is stepping into the hall—the thrill of fear from seeing more people gathered in one place than I’d ever seen before; the dread of the men and woman in silver-plate armor, swords ablaze across their breastplates; the wariness of the mercenaries lining the back walls hired to keep the peace; the trepidation of my fellow mages, their robes cinched tight around their waists as they sat down, glancing warily or angrily at the templars across from them. Mages, templars, elves, humans, dwarves—eyes cut to each other, sideways glances that made me uncomfortable and wary of the staff in my hand. Several guards talking to each other, their expressions concerned—Divine Justinia’s seat at the head of a long table empty—a—a…

I frown, struggling to remember the rest.

“_Explain _this,” the Nevarran demands, grabbing my left wrist.

She pulls my hand up roughly, and I fall forward, managing to catch myself on a knee and a foot. I gasp and grunt when my hand ignites. Fire burns across my skin, aching and singeing, though my skin neither blisters nor reddens. The green light blinds me again, and the woman throws my hand down roughly in surprise. She steps back once, her hand gripping her sword handle more tightly. She unsheathes an inch of it, watching me warily, like I did it on purpose.

And then it hits me—fear—they’re afraid of me.

I bend in on myself, gritting my teeth as I struggle with not showing weakness, but the pain digs to my bone, lancing across it violently. The pain stops as quickly as it began, and I breathe out in relief.

“What have you done?” the Nevarran demands. “Tell me what that is!”

“I-I can’t,” I say, looking up at her.

“What do you _mean_ you _can’t_?” She begins pacing around me again, and the red-haired woman watches me curiously.

“I don’t know what that is,” I reply, my voice rising with a slight tremor of panic. “_Or _how it got there!”

“You’re _lying_!” The Nevarran grabs my cuffs aggressively, and another lance of pain jolts through me when she jerks me forward. My knees skid across the stone, and I gasp as my wrist twists.

Panic and fear cloud my judgement when I look into her eyes. She thinks I’ve done something—something obscene, and she will do anything to extract the information she wants. Her eyes glare into mine, hatred and disgust evident in her expression.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the red-haired woman says lightly. Her accent is Orlesian, her voice gentle but firm at the same time. She grips the Nevarran’s arm and pulls her back roughly when the woman doesn’t let me go. I sag forward when the black-haired woman doesn’t release me immediately and then sit back up.

For a split, idiotic second, I think the Orlesian might help me, but she looks at me darkly, her light eyes devoid of any sympathy.

I swallow thickly. Their suspicion chokes me. I’ve felt the fear of being an apostate in a crowd or an elf surrounded by humans—but this is entirely different.

“I-I don’t understand,” I admit, my mind swimming and aching and throbbing as I try to place things into their proper order.

“Do you remember what happened?” the Orlesian asks, her voice less friendly with me. “How this began?”

I blink at her, searching my mind for the answer. “N-no,” I breathe. “I remember…being at the Conclave and then…”

“And then?”

“And then…I don’t know—I woke up here. I was at the Conclave, and then I was here—I don’t understand.”

“There was a woman behind you when you stepped out the Fade. Do you remember her?”

I stare at the Orlesian woman, waiting for her to elaborate or perhaps admit to joking. “I—what?”

“Who was she?”

“Who was _who_?”

The Orlesian narrows her eyes. At first, I think it’s in suspicion, but I quickly realize it’s in confusion. “You don’t remember walking out the Fade?”

“_Walking_ out of the—” I frown. “That’s—impossible! What are you talking about?”

Cassandra and the Orlesian exchange a weighted look I don’t know how to interpret. “You don’t recall the woman?” the Orlesian asks again.

“_What _woman?”

Cassandra grips the handle of her sword again as she steps back to the Orlesian. “Go to the forwarding camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Her tone, so hard with me, is almost soft with the Orlesian—still gruff, but kinder. Curtness must be her way then—though she _really _doesn’t like me.

Leliana seems displeased with the request. She offers me one last inquisitive glance before she turns around and walks away, moving with the grace of a dancer and the light tread of a thief.

Cassandra turns back to me, and I meet her glare as evenly as I can. I imagine she sent Leliana away to kill me, perhaps torture me for information I don’t have. I sit up as straight as I can, staring at her evenly.

_Never again shall we submit. _

I have nothing to give her, and I refuse to offer her the privilege of seeing me cry or beg. I will do nothing to dishonor my people, my clan, or myself.

Therefore, I am _very _surprised when she leans down and slips a key into my cuffs, releasing me.

“What…_did _happen?” I ask hesitantly, keeping deliberately still as Cassandra binds my hands together with rope.

I wince at the burn against my left hand when she jerks them tighter, but she fortunately doesn’t notice.

“It…” she sighs, “will be easier to show you.”

She stands me up slowly, and I’m caught off guard by the sudden change in her demeanor.

Does she believe me, then?

My legs are numb and wobbly under me, but I make an honest effort to not reveal that. Unsteady as my gait becomes, I hold my head up with all the pride a Dalish _can _have while she’s being escorted handcuffed down a dark hallway, possibly to her doom.

Cassandra leads me, turning through several doors and heading up many flights of stairs.

“Least you don’t have to worry about me escaping, what with this elaborate maze,” I mumble.

Cassandra glares at me.

“That was…a joke.”

“There is nothing remotely _funny _about this situation.”

“Right…”

Cassandra pushes open a final door, and I suddenly recognize my surroundings.

Well, not _recognize_, per se, but I at least understand where I am, though I’ve never been here before. The sunburst emblems and statues of Andraste give it away quickly. 

“I didn’t realize Chantries had prisons,” I muse to distract myself.

Cassandra doesn’t bother with a reply. I don’t blame her.

Candles are lit across the room. Several people are on their knees, their hands clasped tight as they pray to a statue of Andraste. Others rock back and forth, hugging their knees, reciting quiet words under their breaths with haunted eyes.

Cassandra grips her sword again to steady and soften its ring as she walks. She pushes through one of the massive doors at the end of the room, pulling me through it.

I step out into the biting cold as snow drifts down around us. My eyes burn in the brightness of day, and a flicker of light blinds me from the left. I shy away from it, the powerful glare of the sun blind—

No—not the sun—

My eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat. I slowly look back up to what I saw only briefly in peripheral.

“Mythal,” I gasp, staring in horror.

Green—the sky is—_the sky is green—_

High above the mountains around us, a storm brews in the sky. Clouds form in lightning-infused circles. They, themselves, would have been alarming enough if not for the horror of what they react to.

A slow breath is pulled from my lips, and my mind trips over itself as it tries desperately to comprehend or even acknowledge that what I’m seeing is true.

If we were near the ocean, I would think it a cyclone, but there is no sea, and it churns green, not blue.

Bright as the sun, a rolling, spewing, angry spire of green energy roils in the midst of the storm clouds, furiously discharging lightning streaks that dance across the sky in enraged green paths before they disappear. The cyclone whirls down with an unmoving column of energy that stabs into a valley hidden from view, blocked by mountains.

Magic—

But what spell—

What _mage_ would do _this_?

My lips part in horror, and terror weighs me down. _The end of the world_.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra says, her voice low as she, too, stares at the storm. “It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. _All _were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” I hear myself ask, though I don’t recall summoning the words.

“_This _one did,” she replies. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

“Unless we act?” I repeat. “What…how do we even—”

The Breach suddenly flares, pulsing brilliantly with a blinding glare. Green fire bursts from the storm like waves crashing against cliffs. It arcs across the sky in rivulets, spewing down into the valley below. The crash of an explosion roars across the frozen lake between us, deafening me from even this distance.

I cry out and fall to my knees when my hand crackles and burns with more intensity than before. My fingers spasm and jerk on my left hand as the same green energy blinds me. I writhe and pull at the ropes around my wrists, desperate to stop the pain.

Cassandra kneels down before me as I gasp and struggle. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it _is _killing you.” I groan and recoil as an unseen flame burns across my skin, lancing over my wrist, and then I sag in relief when the light fades and the pain stops. “It may be the key to stopping this,” Cassandra adds, her eyes growing sympathetic. “But there isn’t much time.”

I look at her steadily, involuntary tears brimming my eyes. “I understand,” I say as firmly as I can. _Mythal, ma ghilana. _

“Then…?” Cassandra asks, a hopeful edge creeping into her voice.

“I’ll do what I can,” I elaborate. “Whatever it takes.”

Cassandra’s expression softens in evident relief. She almost looks like she might even smile, but she helps me to my feet instead, and that’s just as good. She takes my elbow lightly, escorting me, though I deem it more for show than because she thinks I’ll run.

She leads me through the small village, and everyone turns to watch. Soldiers stop in their tracks, forgetting their duties and destinations as they turn to glare at me. Women at the edges of tents cross their arms, and children hide behind their parents. Men grip their blades as we pass, and I suddenly find myself grateful for Cassandra’s hand guiding me—and the hand she keeps ready on her sword. 

Several people spit as I walk past, and I might have known that, in the wake of a horror in the sky, all these shems would care about is that the prisoner is an elf.

I regret the thought as soon as I have it. They think _I’ve _done this to them. They think I’m responsible for this horrific storm, that I’m capable of blowing up a sacred temple and killing those within.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra explains, unconcerned with her volume as she goes. “They _need _it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.” Cassandra pulls me through two large doors by the gates of the village, leading me left towards a bridge across the frozen lake. “It was a chance for _peace _between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together; now they are dead.”

I look down, allowing a terrible realization to settle over me. Suddenly, I feel a burst of relief that my keeper sent me and me alone to the Conclave. I regret the sensation as it spreads, aware that Cassandra likely lost a great deal in that blast, judging from the haunted look in her eyes and the determination of her gait.

Soldiers nod at Cassandra as they open two wooden doors, revealing the long stone bridge. Cassandra pulls me to a stop as we step onto the bridge, turning to me.

“We lash out like the sky, but we must think _beyond _ourselves, as the Divine did, until the Breach is sealed.” Cassandra pulls a thin blade from her belt and cuts off the rope around my hands. “There _will _be a trial,” she warns. “I can promise no more.”

I rub at my wrists. “Where are you taking me?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” she answers. “We will meet the others in the valley.”

My left hand looks fine, but I run my fingers across the skin, still searching for a blemish or a cut—something that would explain the pain. My skin feels sensitive, as if glass is embedded within, and I wince, pulling my fingers away quickly.

Cassandra notices my reaction and looks down at my hand. I drop them both. She turns without comment, and I jog to keep up with her. My confidence falters when I see a man crying over a covered body. A hand rests against the stone, and the man moves it with care under the sheet, bending over the body with silent sobs that shake his body.

I swallow and look away quickly, grief gripping me. 

_Whatever it takes. _

My words to Cassandra were, admittedly, false bravado, but in the wake of this horror, I feel a twinge of strength inside me—something I didn’t know I possessed. I realize my words, though mistakenly bold, were also true. I _will _do everything in my power to stop whatever it is that has been unleashed. 

The air is thick with fear, but I feel it lend me courage where it paralyzes others. I breathe in deeply and focus my confusion, my anger, my dread, and I channel them into action.

_“Fear in the absence of hope is a paralytic. You must be that hope,” Keeper Deshanna murmurs, her hand smoothing the crease in my worried forehead._

_ “I will not fail you, Keeper,” I reply, bowing my head respectfully. _

_ “I have never feared that from you, da’len. You have not, not could you ever. You are your mother’s daughter. The strength of clan Lavellan runs in your veins. You are my First; you are our future. You must endure.”_

And so I shall.


	2. Well, Bianca's Excited

My eyes are glued to the Breach as I follow Cassandra down the snowy path. It flickers and glimmers brilliantly. It’s terrifying, of course, but there is a certain horrific beauty to the nightmare.

As I watch, the column of energy surges once more, and white-hot pain slices through my wrist. I gasp as tears spring to my eyes. My hand jerks me forward, as if yanked by the Breach, and I fall to my knees, gripping my hand as it throbs and aches. I cry out involuntarily and Cassandra turns sharply to see me on the ground. She walks back to help me, and I sag in relief when the pain stops. I breathe raggedly, slumping over slightly. Cassandra finds my arm and helps me to my feet.

“This is going to get old,” I complain.

She gazes at me sympathetically, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “The pulses are coming faster now,” she murmurs, her voice thoughtful and worried.

She turns around, and I walk briskly with her, breaking into a half-jog when she quickens her pace again. I wasn’t a hunter in my clan, and while I’m accustomed to walking miles to reach a new home, high-speed chases and long stretches of jogging were never really my forte. My legs, I think, could continue. My lungs, however, are far less agreeable.

“How long was I in that—room?” I pant, using a less aggressive word than _prison _or _jail cell_.

“Several days,” she replies. “We were unsure whether you’d waken.”

“Did anyone…look at my hand?”

“Yes.”

I glance at her. “And?”

“He did what he could.”

“Ah. Good…”

“I must warn you: the valley will not be pleasant. The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.”

“Fantastic…How did I survive the blast?”

She glances at me. “They said you…_stepped _out of a rift,” she answers, her voice incredulous and quiet, “then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was. You really do not remember?”

I try again and then sigh and shake my head.

She grimaces. “Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes…I suppose you’ll see soon enough.”

We cross another stone bridge, and I glance up at the Breach again. My eyes sting as I try to look up into its highest point. It’s too bright, and I look back down to see the Breach pulse again. I prepare myself for another onslaught. Instead, the Breach spews out an array of boulders. One of them launches across the sky in an arc, heading exactly for—

I reach for Cassandra, yanking her arm back roughly as the boulder crashes into our bridge, but the effort is in vain. The ground loosens beneath our feet, and we tumble down with the rest of the crumbling bridge to the frozen lake below.

I hit the ice hard on my hip and then my back, and I gasp for air when it is suddenly ripped from my lungs. Cassandra looks at me urgently, and I give a weak nod and an unsteady thumbs-up as I try to sit up. Cassandra stands, rubbing the back of her head as I manage to clamber to my knees.

“Fenedhis,” I curse, looking back up. A rock slams into the lake beside me, and I glare at the Breach as I wait for the ice to buckle. Another explosion from the Breach startles me, and something collides harder with the middle of the lake. The ice cracks and shifts but mercifully doesn’t break.

Instead, two shade demons slide across the glassy surface towards us.

Cassandra’s blade rings out sharply as she pulls it from her scabbard. “Stay behind me!” she orders before she charges forward. She raises her shield in time to block a strike from the demon. Its claws rake shrilly against the steel, and my ears recoil from the screech.

I look around quickly and find a sword. I pull it up but hesitate when I see something else. I smirk and lunge for the wooden staff. I spin it in my hand, testing its weight and balance, and I grin again as I feel my magic course through me evenly. It feels so good, so natural, to have a staff in my hand that I feel completely in control. 

I breathe a quiet word, raise my hand to the sky, and call down lightning. Two white-hot, precisely aimed bolts strike the demons, stunning them with an audible clap. Cassandra whips her head to me in shock before she glares at me and cuts one of the demons down with a growl. It falls to the ground, disintegrating as mysteriously as it had appeared.

The second demon catches Cassandra with her back turned, and I know I’m to blame for her misstep. It raises its claws to her, prepared to strike, but I erect a fast barrier between the two, maintaining it easily. Cassandra whips around again when the demon slams into it loudly, unable to harm her. She glances at me angrily, moving around the barrier to cut the demon down.

I grin, breathing out heavily as I drop the barrier. “Nice work.”

Cassandra walks forward briskly, her sword levelled at me. She drops her weight a little, angling her shield down in a terrifying way that I recognize immediately. Instinctively, I step back and raise my staff.

_That _was stupid. 

“Drop your weapon!” Cassandra bellows. “_Now_!”

Anger flits through me. “Do you really think I need a _staff _to be dangerous?” I demand.

“Is that supposed to _reassure _me?” Cassandra scoffs.

“I haven’t used my magic _once_ in all this time,” I argue. “I’m _cooperating_, but I’m not just gonna stand by and watch you fight everything. You said there were demons out here. Let me _fight_.”

For a long moment, Cassandra simply glares at me, and I prepare myself as best I can for what I think she’s about to do. Instead, she sighs and relaxes her position, bringing her shield down. She tugs it over her shoulder and sheathes her blade. “You’re right,” she admits reluctantly. “You don’t need a staff…but you should have one. I cannot protect you.” She turns and walks a couple paces before glancing back at me. “I…should remember you _agreed _to come willingly.”

I stand upright and grip the staff, letting it tap against the ground with every other step as I catch up to her. “I didn’t know you were a templar,” I muse quietly.

“I’m not,” Cassandra replies.

“You hold your shield like one.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Well…if you _were_, thanks for not nullifying me.”

“I cannot fight and carry you at the same time.”

I glance at her and then laugh at the unexpected joke. When she cuts her eyes at me, I think maybe she _wasn’t _kidding. Then I remember what nullification feels like, and I make a face. “Fair point, actually.”

“You have been nullified before?” she wonders.

“And I do not recommend it,” I mutter.

“Here,” she suddenly says, pulling a sack of flasks out from her belt. I hear them clatter together quietly. “Take these potions. Maker knows what we will face. I know you…” She glances at me again. “...probably can heal yourself, but…take them anyway.”

“Thank you,” I reply, tying the sack to my belt quickly. I slip one out and sniff it curiously. “Canavaris?” I murmur.

“Elfroot," she corrects.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Same thing.”

She looks at me again. “Oh…” She makes a face. “No, I suppose you _wouldn’t _call it elfroot, would you…”

I take a quick drink, sighing out when the warm liquid pushes my headache back and soothes my hip. It has no effect whatsoever on my hand, but I guess that would be too easy.

I feel more alert, my vision sharper now that the small discomforts are removed.

“Where are all your soldiers?” I ask breathlessly, trying in vain to match her pace.

“At the forward camp,” she replies, “or fighting. We are on our own for now.”

“What do—”

“There!” Cassandra warns, pulling her sword out again. I look ahead to the frozen lake at another group of shade demons. “Watch out! If we flank them, we may gain the advantage!”

She hurries across the ice, and I jog around the edge of it. I realize, as I glance at her, that Cassandra takes quick care with her steps, choosing the thickest parts of the ice. It cracks under her weight but shows no sign of caving in—yet.

Her shield deflects a blow, and I stop when I’m on the other side of the demons. I call forth fire, burning a demon alive—dead?—as Cassandra turns to the other to ashes. I think we’re done when something slams into the ice near Cassandra. I watch in horror as the ice begins to crack and shift, and Cassandra bounds backwards to escape it when the rock falls through the ice, shattering it. The fissure races ahead of Cassandra’s quick movements and widens beneath her feet before she can make it to safety. Instinctively, I whirl around, spinning my staff powerfully with another word. Cassandra gets hit with the force, landing on the other side of the riverbank just as the spot where she was standing breaks apart. I run around the shore as she looks up in alarm—likely expecting to be swimming right now.

She looks up at me in surprise when I stop before her, offering my hand. “Thank you,” she says, gripping it.

I pull her to her feet. “Can’t carry you and fight at the same time.”

She smirks, turning away before I can properly appreciate the little victory.

She leads the way, and I jog beside her. She moves across another bed of secure ice fearlessly. I move as quickly as I can, slipping more than once, until she alerts me to another round of demons.

“Up on the hill!” she calls. “It attacks from a distance.”

I target the wisp while she charges after the shade demons. My first few attacks are dodged easily, so I freeze it in place quickly and then call down lightning to break through the block and electrocute the wisp within. It dissolves, and I turn to help Cassandra only to see her walking back towards me, sheathing her blade.

“Not bad,” I muse.

She rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted noise. “Thank you for that assessment.”

“You’re welcome.”

Breathing heavily, we mount a steep hill. Cassandra has to catch me more than once when I choose less stable footing, and by the time we reach the top, I’m exhausted. Cassandra’s rigorous pace doesn’t slow, not even for a second. She marches forward determinedly.

I suppose we get another half a mile or so before _another _rock falls from the Breach and _another _set of demons tries to kill us.

“Seriously?” I demand angrily, whirling my staff around. “Can we go—just a few minutes—without all this drama?”

At least they aren’t spiders.

Something flickers in my mind—a vague memory of something, and I hesitate. A demon’s claw catches on my sleeve, slicing through the material and across my skin. I light it on fire angrily as Cassandra turns another to dust. I raise a barrier between her and a demon when she mistimes a lunge, and she nods at me gratefully, resetting herself. When she’s ready, I lower the barrier, and she slices the last demon down. As she sheathes her blade, I press my fingers to my arm, murmuring a few words, and my skin stitches itself back together again.

Cassandra’s forehead is dewed with sweat despite the snowy weather. She breathes heavily and adjusts her breastplate as she begins to climb the steep set of stairs built into the mountain. I follow her quickly, my lungs aching. I was beginning to wonder how the woman with me doesn’t tire, but I realize she isn’t immune to exhaustion; she’s immune to quitting. There is no room for failure.

Cassandra hesitates a moment, stopping on the stairs as she listens, and then she picks up her pace, taking the stairs three at a time. “We’re getting close to the rift! You can hear the fighting!”

“Who’s—fighting?” I manage to breathlessly call back, falling behind her as my chest aches.

“You’ll see soon! We must help them!”

Cassandra reaches the top and disappears around the corner, heading right. I groan and pick up my speed, cursing myself for being the Keeper’s First and not a damn hunter. Assan would have no trouble with this shit.

I reach the top, gasping absurdly, and I hear the shrill ring of steel against stone, the tug of a crossbow, and the soft sound of magic in the air.

I gasp and heave, following the sounds of fighting to see that not only has Cassandra beaten me here, but she’s already launched herself into battle while I stand here gaping.

I can’t help but pause when I see the rift. It looks like the Breach, only _significantly _smaller. It glimmers in the air, a small tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade. Beyond it, I can see the shadowy, dark fragments of the raw world beyond.

“Fen’Harel,” I curse, looking at it a moment longer. As I do, a rage demon climbs through the tear, sliding across and melting the snow beneath it.

I run forward to the fighting. Demons are everywhere, and I search for where the need is greatest. Cassandra and a few soldiers clash against several shade demons, holding them back. A dwarf with a crossbow handles several wisps on his own, dispensing bolts like it’s second nature. An elven mage wields his staff gracefully, using the blade at the end to finish off a demon while simultaneously pushing another back with a powerful force. He steps forward, stabbing the demon to the ground before continuing.

Sweat stings my eyes as I call another round of lightning to the demons Cassandra is fighting. The elven mage turns to me in surprise at the new magic, as does the dwarf. I block a demon from attacking me by pushing it back with my staff. I whirl around, stabbing it quickly before stopping a demon from approaching the dwarf from behind. He glances back casually, nods at me with an impressed expression, and shoots the demon in the head before moving on.

The other elven mage pushes the rage demon back, calling upon ice to destroy it. I combine my magic with his, trapping the demon in a solid block as it roars. The mage glances at me again and at my hand as it glows before he focuses his attention on a demon behind the dwarf. I turn and erect a barrier between the two as the elven mage takes the shade down. The dwarf gives a quick flourish of his hand in thanks, and I smirk at the casual gesture.

“Quickly!” the elven mage calls, jogging over to me. “Before more come through!”

I look at him confusedly as he takes my left wrist. He lifts it into the air, thrusting it at the rift. My hand suddenly flares, and I grit my teeth in surprise when I feel a surge of magic rush through my fingers. Pain flickers wildly, and I gasp, tightening my hand into a fist. A line of spewing green energy connects me to the rift, and the air crackles with magic. The sound of energy builds to a deafening rate before it finally plateaus. The rift pulses brightly, and then the tear in the Veil heals itself, leaving behind nothing to prove it ever existed at all.

The elf releases my hand and steps back while I stand there like a fool, staring at where the rift was. I look down my hand, shock coloring my features as it courses through me.

“What…what did you do?” I ask, looking at my fingers before raising my eyes to the elven mage.

“_I _did nothing,” he corrects in a smooth, silky voice. “The credit is yours.”

I gape at him before pulling my mouth closed. “_I _closed that thing? _How_?”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct,” he answers, his tone pleased.

My hand glows as he speaks, and I stare at it. It does hurt—a lot—but it hums, too, soundlessly, but I feel the magic vibrate under my skin. I grit my teeth at the pain, focusing instead on the way energy crackles within it.

“Meaning it _could _also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra murmurs, coming close.

“Possibly,” the elven mage replies, glancing at me. “It _seems _you hold the key to our salvation,” he adds with a private smile.

I snort incredulously and then sober up when Cassandra glares at me. “Sorry,” I say, straightening. “I just…” I clear my throat. “Sorry. This is serious.” The elven mage watches me, his eyes a little amused now.

“Good to know,” the dwarf suddenly says in a rich, velvety voice, adjusting his gloves. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” I turn to him, smirking at his casual tone. A man after my own heart. “Varric Tethras,” he greets grandly. “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.” He winks at Cassandra and receives a glare in return. “This here’s Bianca,” he adds, patting his crossbow with a fond grin.

“Good to meet you, Varric…and Bianca,” I reply.

“You may reconsider that stance in time,” the elven mage murmurs with another small smile.

Varric scoffs. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll all become great friends in the valley, Chuckles,” he replies, offering a winsome smile.

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra says sternly, stepping forward. “Your help is—_appreciated_, Varric, but—”

“Have you _been _in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric asks. I glance at Cassandra. Not a templar. A Seeker. Huh. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You _need _me.” He raises an eyebrow, as if daring her to challenge the statement.

Cassandra looks as if she wants to argue, but she offers a disgusted noise instead and turns around angrily.

“My name is Solas,” the elven mage says to me, “if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric snorts. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

I look up at Solas. “Oh, well—thank you. That’s—good to know. You seem to know a great deal about it all,” I add.

“Like you,” Cassandra says, “Solas is an apostate.”

I grimace at her.

“Technically, _all _mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” Solas corrects before returning to me. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, _far _beyond the experience of any _Circle _mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

“See why I call him Chuckles?” Varric mutters.

“What will you do once this is over?” I wonder.

He allows a small smile. “One hopes those in power will remember who helped—and who did not. Cassandra, you should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner is a mage,” he allows, “but I find it difficult to imagine _any _mage having such power.”

I look between them, offering Cassandra a hesitant smile. She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. “Understood,” she replies, sounding drained. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Solas nods, and they lead the way.

“Well,” Varric sighs as he watches them go, “Bianca’s excited.”

I chuckle at him, and he pats my shoulder as we follow the other two.

“Tell me, rift-tamer, what’s your name?” he wonders. “I need to know what I should shout when I want a demon turned to stone.”

I snort. “My _name _or my preferred _nick_name?”

“Well, now you have to tell me both.”

I chuckle, but it fades away. “Suledin Lavellan, of clan Lavellan.”

Solas glances back at me, his expression unreadable.

“And the nickname?” Varric asks.

“Sul.”

“Sul,” he repeats, testing it. “_Sul_. I like it. Strong. Short. Easy to remember when I need saving.”

I laugh again, glancing down at him.

“This way!” Cassandra calls back to us. “Down the bank. The road ahead is blocked.”

“We must move quickly,” Solas urges, glancing up at the angry green chasm above.

Varric and I follow the other two over the steep bank. While Solas and Cassandra manage it just fine, we’re a little less graceful. I slip and slide on the way down, and Varric is somehow worse off than me. I reach out to grab his gloved hand quickly before he falls the rest of the way down.

“Much obliged,” he says, righting himself.

“I’m just using you for balance,” I correct, and he chuckles, the sound low and deep in his chest.

We manage to make it to the frozen lake more or less intact.

I glance at the ice dubiously as Cassandra strides across it. “Are we sure this can—”

“Demons ahead!” Solas warns quickly, pulling to a stop.

I jerk my head up, pulling my staff off the ground again.

“Glad you brought me _now, _Seeker?” Varric calls loudly. His crossbow flicks loudly with each bolt he rapidly fires.

I stare at Varric as he goes. “Holy shit,” I breathe. “That crossbow is...amazing! I've never seen one work so...flawlessly.” 

“She’s a one-of-a-kind,” Varric grins. 

I watch him a moment longer, understanding now, perhaps, why he’s so fond of it when I realize he rarely has to reload. I’ve always considered crossbows wildly inconvenient, and my clan never used them, but Varric’s works fluidly, sometimes spreading to fire multiple bolts or allowing him to let loose several in a row.

“Holy shit!” I say again, forcing myself to refocus on the danger.

I concentrate with all my strength, feeling my forehead dew with sweat despite the below-freezing temperature. I feel my mana slipping after so much activity. Solas, I’m sure, is running off reserves, too, and I don’t know how Cassandra is still going.

I frown, focusing my energy on the largest of the demons. I call upon fire, passing it to my staff smoothly before aiming it across the lake and releasing it. I breathe energy into it, feeling a knot of a headache forming in my mind again from the pull. The fireball enlarges as it goes, exploding on impact, and I feel another bit of my mana fade as I grit my teeth.

Cassandra charges across the ice, slashing at demons with a proficiency I’ve never before seen. Solas raises a barrier around her and manages to hold it tightly while moving his staff around to the others, fire and spirit rocks forming at the crystal without hesitancy. I watch, impressed, for a moment. I’ve never seen a mage conjure so much simultaneously. I only have a second to enviously appreciate it before Varric calls to me.

“Hey, Sul, mind helping a dwarf out?”

I turn my attention him and then thrust my staff out, trapping the demon in ice before its claws reach Varric. He reloads quickly and shoots the demon, turning it to ash in a smooth gesture.

“Thanks!”

Cassandra’s roar echoes across the lake, and I find myself more than relieved to be on her good side. Best keep it that way if I intend to live past today.

The demons fall as quickly as they emerged, and, when we’re finished, I rest my staff on the ice for a moment, feeling drained. I wipe my forehead quickly and stand up as Cassandra glances back at me. She motions to us, and Varric and I cross the ice to join her and Solas, following the brutal pace they set.

“You are Dalish,” Solas murmurs conversationally, glancing back at me once, “but clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?”

“My keeper did, yes,” I nod. Without the vallaslin, I _would _think he’s a city elf, but even thinking the name alongside him doesn’t seem to fit. Perhaps just a wanderer, then. In that case… “What do you know of the Dalish?” I wonder.

Solas glances back at me. “I have wandered many roads in my time,” he replies, confirming my theory, “crossed paths with your people on more than on occasion.”

I look up at him. “We are both of the same people, Solas.”

He makes a face, turning away before I can attempt to read it. “The Dalish I met felt…differently on the subject.”

Varric sighs. “Can’t you elves just play nice for once?”

I scoff. “_We _elves are plenty nice; it’s—”

“No offence, no offence,” he adds quickly, raising his hands.

I grimace and sigh. I walk briskly to catch up with Solas and Cassandra. My hand suddenly spasms, and I accidently let go of my staff. It clatters to the ice, and I grip my hand, jerked forward by the Breach. Cassandra catches me when I stagger. My vision blurs at the ache, and I squeeze my eyes shut, gasping. It burns under my skin, sizzling and scalding and stabbing.

“We must hurry,” Solas murmurs to Cassandra, stepping closer to us, “before the mark consumes her.”

I make a face, gasping again. “Excellent. That’s…very comforting.” I stand up, gripping my wrist. “Sorry,” I add, looking at Cassandra.

“Come,” she says gruffly, setting a breakneck pace.

Varric leans over and picks up my staff. “You alright, Snow?” he murmurs, walking beside me.

“Snow?” I rasp, tears blurring my vision as the ache continues.

“Your hair,” he shrugs. “Just trying it out.”

I chuckle once with difficulty, finally relaxing when the mark stops. “Thank you,” I murmur, taking the staff back. “I’m not sure Snow’s the one for me,” I add.

“Eh, we’ll see. I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

I chuckle again, wiping my eyes. Varric pats my back once before gripping his crossbow again tightly.

“So, are you innocent?” he wonders.

“I don’t remember what happened,” I reply.

“That’ll get you every time,” Varric sighs, snapping his gloved fingers. “Should’a spun a story.”

Cassandra scoffs. “That’s what _you _would have done.”

“It’s more believable! And less likely to result in premature execution.”

Cassandra grunts a humorless laugh and moves more quickly. I can’t help but think it a punishment.

I struggle to keep up, the weight of the pain and drama of the day pressing heavily against me. I groan when I see another steep set of stairs twist and curve against the side of another mountain. I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, because Solas and Cassandra make the journey easily—or at least without obvious complaint. Varric, at least, seems as displeased with the trek, so that’s comforting.

I follow along as quickly as I can, preparing my mana in case we come across another group of demons. I tighten my grip on my staff, breathing out as evenly as I can as we ascend. I glance up at the Breach as we go, imagining all the dozens of ways this can go wrong.

***

I lower my staff, breathing ridiculously fast as the last demon falls. I raise my right hand to my forehead, collecting beads of sweat as they drip down my temples.

“Fenedhis,” I pant. “If I ever see a demon again, it’ll be too soon.”

Varric chuckles breathlessly, gathering his bolts off the ground. “Right there with you, Boots.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I knew it as soon as I said it,” he laughs, glancing down at my Dalish footwear. “Don’t worry; I’ll place you.”

“Sul’s _fine_,” I chuckle.

“Sul’s what everyone else will call you. No, no—you need a proper nickname, a unique one. I’ll find it. Don’t worry.”

“I hope Leliana made it through all this,” Cassandra calls, out of breath as she sheathes her blade.

“She’s resourceful, Seeker,” Varric replies casually.

“We will see for ourselves at the forward camp,” Solas says, leading the way up the hill. “We are almost there.”

I walk beside Varric, leaning on my staff more heavily as I go. We don’t get far before shouts and the clash of swords reach our ears. Tirelessly, Cassandra lunges forward, taking the rest of the hill quickly and disappearing over it. Solas follows her, and I grit my teeth, pushing my legs and lungs harder. At the top, I pause, taking a second to understand what’s happening. We’ve reached a long stone bridge that’s being used as a command center—the forward camp, I imagine. Two doors are shut tight, blocking its passage as, most notably, a group of soldiers rally against a horde of demons.

“Another rift!” Cassandra shouts, drawing her sword.

“We must seal it!” Solas calls. “Quickly!”

“They keep coming!” a soldier exclaims. “Help us!”

An archer near me falls backwards, scrambling to escape a demon now that he’s dropped his bow. I cry out a quick spell, throwing up a barrier that makes my finger tremble. Solas reacts at the same time as me, and our barriers combine, climbing high. I glance at him, seeing him nod, so I drop mine and focus fire on the demon.

“Hurry,” Solas calls. “Use the mark!”

“We’ll cover you!” Varric adds.

I feel idiotic, but I jog forward a couple steps and raise my hand the way Solas did before. I feel magic pull through me, humming over my skin almost as if a river is rushing through me. Pain grips my hand, and tears spring to my eyes as I squeeze them tight, holding my breath. The energy between the rift and me flutters in the air, brightening behind my eyelids and deafening me until it finally explodes. I jerk back, freed from the magic. I feel drained and exhausted, and my hand aches as it glows. I open my eyes to see the rift gone, and I grip my hand, gasping.

Solas looks at me, and I stand upright, looking away as I wipe my eyes. I turn to see the other soldiers staring at me. One pulls his helmet off, his expression awed.

I look away from that, too, finding comfort in Cassandra's stoicism.

“The rift is gone!” she announces to the soldiers, jarring them into action. “Open the gates!”

“R-right away, Lady Cassandra!”

“We are clear for the moment,” Solas murmurs, out of breath. “Well done.”

Varric makes a face. “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.”

I nod, clenching my hand into a fist. I glance at Solas again as he walks forward. When this is over, assuming I survive, I’ll have a few questions for him. Of everyone, he seems the one most likely to understand. At they very least, he seems the most likely to theorize.

We follow Cassandra through the forward camp and onto the bridge. Soldiers run back and forth, heading to one end or the other. They grab swords and shields and medical kits. Some of them carry bodies between them, moving them to more secure places. Rows and rows of soldiers lay still across the bridge, sheets pulled over their unmoving figures. I look down, watching the ground as I go, feeling heavy. Varric walks beside me slowly, resting his crossbow over his shoulder.

“Maker,” he breathes, shaking his head.

I look up when I hear a somewhat familiar voice, recognizing the red-haired woman who questioned me with Cassandra.

“…don’t have a choice, Chancellor,” she says firmly, crossing her arms as she glares at a man in Chantry robes.

He leans across the wooden table between them, studying a map dismissively. “Sister Leliana, you have already caused enough trouble by—” 

“_I_ have caused _trouble_?” she demands incredulously.

“Ah,” the man says, standing as he sees Cassandra. “Here they come.” He fixes his glare on her, and she stops impatiently before his table.

Leliana steps forward to Cassandra. “You made it,” she says, relief softening her tone. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I _know _who she is,” he interrupts, glaring at me now. I raise my eyebrows at him, offering a thin smile I know he’ll interpret as sarcastic. He looks at Cassandra again. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this _criminal _to Val Royeaux to face _execution_.”

Solas looks over the valley with an impatient sigh, his gaze annoyed.

“Order _me_?” Cassandra repeats. I want to point out that _that _wasn’t exactly the most…troubling part of his statement, but alright. “You are a glorified clerk, a _bureaucrat_.”

“And you are a _thug_, but a thug who _supposedly _serves the Chantry.”

“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor,” Leliana snaps. “As you well know.”

“Justinia is _dead_!” Roderick exclaims, throwing his hands up. “We must elect her replacement and obey _her _orders on the matter.”

Solas looks more irritated as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Varric seems entertained, watching them duke it out.

“Uh, not to interrupt,” I mutter, “but…isn’t closing the Breach the more…_pressing _issue?”

Roderick scoffs, rounding on me. “_You _brought this on us in the first place!”

I throw my hands up in frustration, and Cassandra glares at him venomously. She leans a hand against the table, and I don’t know how, but she makes it a threat. The chancellor gazes at her evenly.

“Call a retreat, Seeker,” he implores, sounding defeated. “Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra promises.

“How?” he wonders. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We _must _get to the temple. It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana says. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me,” Roderick implores. “Abandon this _now, _Seeker, before more lives are lost.”

He jumps in surprise when the Breach pulses with an audible explosion. My hand jerks me forward a step. I grip my wrist, looking away as I gasp in pain. Solas looks down at me, and I avoid him and everyone else, willing it to stop. I pull my hand back to my side, gasping quietly, forcing myself to stand upright. I see Solas grimace at the Breach, his expression serious. Leliana and Cassandra turn to me, sympathetic and unhappy. Roderick stares at me in horror, and Varric glances at my hand uncertainly.

I slowly relax as the pain subsides. Each time, it feels like it won’t end. The Breach in the sky flickers and dulls again.

“How do _you _think we should proceed?” Cassandra asks.

I look at her, shocked. I wonder if perhaps this is a test, so I don’t bother asking her to repeat herself as I glance at the others. “I—say we charge with the soldiers,” I answer, my voice hard. “We don’t have time to lose. Whatever happens, happens now.”

Cassandra nods her head once in approval. “Leliana, bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

Leliana nods and moves past us, shouting to a group of soldiers. I follow Cassandra down the bridge, flanked by Solas and Varric.

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” Roderick calls after us.

I glance at her to see her expression harden even more. She walks briskly, her eyes haunted. Her hand moves to her sword pommel, and I watch as she grips it so hard her knuckles turn white.


	3. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

The journey up the mountain is decidedly more arduous than anything else today. The most direct path to the frontlines turns out to also be the worst path. Rather than take the road, we find ourselves scaling the mountainside itself. I somehow wind up leading, using my staff for support more often than not. This worries me because I know that if I fall, I’m taking them all down with me. Cassandra walks behind me, then Varric and Solas.

I breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when we reach the top, stopping a moment to catch my breath. Varric moves beside me, clapping my shoulder as he rests his hands on his knees. Cassandra and Solas, naturally, continue forward, breathless as they sound.

“They’re trying to show us up, aren’t they?” I gasp, ripping my scarf off. I tie it to my staff, my fingers shaking.

“Oh yeah,” Varric nods, staggering forward a few steps. “Shit. I wasn’t made for this much climbing.”

I chuckle a little hysterically, walking forward numbly after the others. I negotiate the boulders around the edge of the road and move to the considerably flatter path. Ahead, I can hear the telltale sounds of battle.

Bodies line the road in long, jagged lines, but these are uncovered, and I look away quickly. Soldiers bustle around us, sharpening their blades and gathering weapons. Some kneel down, praying or crying.

I follow Cassandra soberly, focusing on the back of her head rather than the weight of the tragedy around us.

We reach a flight of stairs, but the lower half has been blown off, presenting a very steep drop. Cassandra makes it with no trouble, landing solidly far below. She glances back up at the rest of us waiting, but I don’t trust my ankles on such a drop.

“Here, Freckles,” Varric says, offering his hand.

“I don’t have freckles,” I reply, accepting his help.

He concedes, gripping the edge of the stairwell to help me down. “I’ll think of something.”

He lowers me as far as he can, and I fall the rest of the way, landing with a stumble. Varric reaches back to help Solas, who politely declines. Varric slides off the edge of the stairs, landing hard beside me. I reach out to steady him, receiving his nod in response.

I turn to the makeshift battlefield, swallowing thickly.

Soldiers are everything; they litter the small clearing. Dozens and dozens, and still they are outnumbered.

A man in red and black armor, furs like a lion's mane around his shoulders, battles four demons by himself, using his shield and sword to push his enemy back and fight. Almost every man fights three at a time. A soldier close to me is overwhelmed by five.

Varric reacts to that at the same time that I do, and we make a good team. I raise a barrier in front of the soldier, shielding her from one of the demon’s claws. Varric fires and reloads so quickly that I barely have time to finish the barrier before the demons are gone. She turns back to nod at us gratefully before rushing to one of her comrades.

Cassandra is halfway to the man in lion armor, and Solas focuses his attention on the new demons pouring from the tear in the Veil.

I rush forward with Varric, stopping near Solas.

“We must seal the rift!” he calls to me, his staff endlessly spinning and tapping the ground. “There are too many passing through!”

I nod as I catch a demon with the blade at the end of my staff, slicing through it quickly with a grunt. I raise my hand to the rift, feeling the magic rush through me. Before I can connect with it, something tackles me around the middle.

I hit the ground hard, crying out in surprise as claws rake at me. I raise my arm to block them, earning several deep cuts across my skin. Lightning suddenly slams into the demon above me. I feel the static charge the air around me, raising the hair on my neck. The demon roars and then disintegrates as I gasp. Solas reaches down and pulls me back to my feet, raising a barrier over us. I thank him quickly, thrusting my left hand out again. Solas’ brow furrows in concentration as he maintains the shield, and I can tell he must be even more drained than I am. I don’t even know how long he was fighting before I showed up.

Demons rail against the barrier, trying to weaken it as I connect with the rift across the field. I step forward once, planting my feet firmly on the ground as I grip my staff. Green fire licks up past my fingers, aching and burning. A strangled cry bursts through my lips, and I curl my hand into a fist, trying to hurry.

Before I can finish, the rift explodes, and the force of it knocks me back. I scream, my hand on fire as I grip it. I look up to see terror demons land on the snow and charge for the soldiers.

Cassandra appears beside me, pulling me to my feet. “Are you alright?”

I gasp and nod, gripping my hand.

“We’ll cover you! Commander!” she shouts. The man in the lion armor glances back. “Shield her!”

He seems to have a few questions as to what makes _me _so special, but he backs up to us regardless until he stands before me, his shield covering not only himself but me as well.

“Soldiers! Come here! We need to form a wall!” Cassandra orders.

Several fall back to us until I’m circled by Varric, Solas, the commander, Cassandra, and multiple warriors. Solas’ barrier stretches too large over us all, and I look at him quickly, certain it must be taxing as I thrust my hand up to the rift. His brow is furrowed, and his jaw is clenched, but he maintains the barrier against the terror demons who screech and claw at the shimmering wall between us. Magic pulses through me too slowly, but I don’t know how to make it go faster. Solas raises his staff, strengthening the walls around us, but it’s taking a heavy toll.

The terror demons release a shrill scream that deafens me, and I cry out as almost everyone raises their hands to their ears. Tears flood my eyes as fire rakes across my arm, connecting me to the rift. The commander and the soldiers turn to me in shock, and I close my eyes tightly, clenching my hand into a fist. I feel it—barely, perhaps, but I can feel the torn edges of the Veil. I grip them tightly, feeling the magic hum, the rift fluttering as if to defy me. I wait until I’m sure I have a decent hold, and then I yank the rift shut with an agonized cry.

I tear my hand away, gripping it with a gasp, and I wrench my eyes open to see the rift gone. The terror demons screech and pound against the barrier. Solas staggers forward, falling to one knee. Varric grabs my arm as the walls around us disappear. Immediately, I raise it again, holding it over Solas, Varric, and a few of the soldiers as he recovers, gasping a little. Cassandra and the commander launch into battle, reaching the same terror demon at the same time. Solas closes his eyes, wincing before he raises his hand, hurling a fireball at one of the terror demons. It catches on the wood, and the demon shrieks as it goes up in flames.

“I have to drop the barrier!” I warn.

Solas nods, pulling himself up. I wait until he’s ready and then drop the walls, swinging my staff at the second terror demon. It roars as the fire catches, and it shrieks shrilly as it falls. The third across the field goes down soon after, and then it’s just wisps and shades. They fall with relative ease.

When it’s over, everyone seems to sag with the same exhausted relief.

“The rift is sealed, as before,” Solas nods. He offers a small smile when he sees how dramatically I lean against my staff. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

I snort, rolling my eyes.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric replies.

“Just _had _to being that up, didn’t you?” I pant.

“Sorry,” he chuckles.

The man in lion armor comes forward, staring at me in awe. “How did you…”

I shrug, gasping for air as I pull my collar.

“The prisoner’s mark seems to have control over the rifts,” Cassandra answers.

“Prisoner,” I snort. “Here I thought we were becoming friends.”

Varric smirks at me. “She’s a little rough around the edges.”

“I hope they’re right about you,” the commander says drily. “We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

“You’re not the only one hoping that,” I mutter, glancing down the field. Beside me, Varric chuckles, and Solas smirks.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” the commander replies, clearly displeased with my levity. He turns to Cassandra. “The way to the temple should be clear.”

“Leliana should be arriving soon,” Cassandra replies.

“I’ll send her to meet you.”

“Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” 

“Maker watch over you,” he answers, stepping back with a last glance tossed my way. “For all our sakes.”

I watch him as he turns and jogs to a wounded soldier. He takes the man’s arm, winding it around his shoulders as he helps him across the rest of the field. I make a face, and Varric mimics it.

“Makes the rest of us look back,” Varric sighs.

“You know him?”

“I’ve met him exactly twice before this. Both times, he was more or less doing that.”

“This way,” Cassandra calls, redirecting our attention.

I follow her and Solas as they maneuver another decent drop. I stumble when I hit the ground wrong, gripping my staff. I start to make a comment to myself, but my good humor vanishes the instant I look up.

My heart pounds my in chest, speeding up as I take in the horror before us. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas all stop, too, staring.

There is hardly any evidence at all that a building once stood here, never mind a large temple. A few broken walls remain, the stone melted along the edges. Massive bricks lay in solitary patches, falling down from those few walls still standing. Beyond them, bodies are scattered. Most were burned away in the explosion, leaving nothing but scorch marks or shadows printed on the walls, echoes of the men and women who once stood here. Still some litter the ground, mere husks of what they once were.

They sit frozen on the ground, sculpted in horror. Some are on their knees, melted arms raised to shield their heads from the blast. Too many were knocked to the stone beneath them, curled in on themselves to protect them from damage. Their clothes burned away in the blast. All that remains are the mutilated, deformed masses before us, bone bleaching through charred skin and sinewy muscle.

My eyes brim over in raw panic as it bubbles in chest. Their hatred, their anger in Haven—Chancellor Roderick and the ones who spit at my feet; Leliana’s and Cassandra’s expressions in the prison—they thought I did this, that I was _capable _of…_this_.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas murmurs solemnly.

“What’s left of it,” Varric whispers, his voice hoarse.

“That,” Cassandra says quietly, gesturing to a stone wall not far from me, “is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you.”

The others look back at me as I stare at the spot.

“How did you survive this?” Varric whispers.

I look around, tears falling as I shake my head.

“They say there was a woman in the rift behind you,” Cassandra says again. “No one knows who she was.”

I walk forward once, raising a hand to my chest when it bubbles again with hysteria. I realize why this time. “I can feel them,” I murmur softly.

Varric and Cassandra look at me, confused, but Solas nods solemnly. “The Veil is weak here. They press against it, echoes of what happened ringing out,” he says quietly, “begging to be heard.”

Silence follows his words, and I breathe out with difficulty.

“Good to…know,” Varric mutters uncomfortably.

“This is monstrous,” I whisper without meaning to, walking through the field of bodies. “How could someone do this…”

I lead the way slowly into a broken hallway, an open-roofed reminder of the holy temple that once stood here. I look up as I round the corner and come to a slow stop as I reach a broken balcony. The air in my lungs is pulled from me in a quiet gasp.

I look up and up and _up_. It never ends. The Breach is massive.

Suddenly, my heart skips a beat, and my lips part. I could barely close a couple tiny, thin tears in the Veil. This—this is—

I shake my head.

Impossible. This is impossible. This kind of thing just can’t happen.

A lump of raw energy hovers frozen in midair, its shape reminding me vaguely of everite. From it, waves of green fire flow upwards, churning in the cyclone I saw before. Here, it’s thicker than…I don’t even know what—a house, a Chantry, a mountain…

I try to look up into the Breach, but it’s too bright, like staring into the sun. Beyond, I catch faint glimpses of the green, unveiled world meant to be separate from us. 

I swallow thickly when I look down. A large crater sits where the rest of the temple once was, a massive hole blown into the earth. It must be the epicenter. The remaining walls lean precariously against the mountains around us, as if recoiling from the blast even still. I stare in horror, realizing that this was no ordinary spell—nothing I’ve ever heard of could do this, not even Qunari gaatlok. This is…

Again, the word _impossible_ leaps to mind, and I wonder if I’m dreaming, if this is some bizarre nightmare, a trick of the Fade, and that I'll wake up in my own tent with my Dalish clan, far removed from the horrifying implications of this moment. 

“The Breach is a long way up,” Varric mumbles, staring up with me.

I shake my head. “How the…”

“You’re here!" someone calls. "Thank the Maker.”

I turn to see Leliana run forward, a bow slung over her shoulder. Half a dozen men follow her, warily glancing at me or the bodies strewn around us.

“Leliana,” Cassandra greets, “have your men take up positions around the temple.” Her voice holds an undeniable authority, and it jars me from my shock, lending me strength.

Leliana nods once, turning back to quickly give instructions, gesturing to several places around the crater.

“This is your chance to end this,” Cassandra tells me, coming to my side. “Are you ready?”

I stare up again. “I…I don’t even know how to _start _getting up to that thing,” I breathe.

“The Breach, no,” Solas replies, “but the rift.” He points down into the crater, toward the everite-like ball of energy. “This rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

I look up again, following the whirling cyclone of energy up to the massive Breach. “You…certain about that?”

“As certain as one can be, under the circumstances.”

“Fair…fair enough,” I mumble.

“Then let’s find a way down,” Cassandra says. “And be careful.”

My fingers suddenly flare, and I wince, gasping at the pain. Solas watches my hand, and Varric gives me a concerned look.

“You okay?” he wonders quietly. 

“Yeah,” I rasp. “Just—tickles.”

He offers a thin smile at the joke, and I clench my hand into a fist again, walking forward with Cassandra as she moves across the crumbled floor. She glances over the balcony and then scales it, dropping to the rocky mountain below. I follow her, stumbling a little. She leads us around the edge, choosing the path carefully.

_Now is the hour of our victory_.

I stop walking, looking around for the voice that I hear in my mind. Varric, Solas, and Cassandra stop, too, which makes me feel better.

_Bring forth the sacrifice._

“Please tell me you hear him too,” Varric mutters.

“Creepy dude, deep voice?” I mumble. “Yep. Definitely.”

_Bring forth the sacrifice._

This time it sounds like an echo. The voice crawls under my skin, clawing against my chest. It unsettles and unnerves me. I look for the source, but there’s no one here. On their elevated positions, the soldiers look fine, unconcerned. Clearly, they are far enough away.

“Did you hear that?” Leliana murmurs, startling me.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra demands, looking at Solas as Leliana comes to her side.

“At a guess,” he says, “the person who created the Breach.”

Everyone looks at him. Varric opens his mouth a couple times before changing his mind.

“How is that possible?” Cassandra breathes.

“The Veil is thin here,” Solas answers slowly. “It is…retaining and…somehow replaying the memory of what happened. Spirits react to the emotions of the world around them, and they are deeply affected by destruction of this magnitude. It _is _possible that the spirits are allowing us to hear this. They will likely only offer bits and pieces—scattered and confusing.”

“Do you remember this voice?” Cassandra asks suddenly, looking at me. “Perhaps you saw him?”

“I—no,” I reply quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t—think so? I don’t remember.”

Cassandra sighs out impatiently.

“Let’s just close this thing, alright?” Varric mutters. “We can theorize later.”

I follow behind the others as we round the mountain, edging deeper into the crater. Varric sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. I pause beside him, alarmed when I see terror flit across his expression.

“That’s—red lyrium,” he says, pointing, his tone growing cold.

I follow his gaze to red crystals that stab through the crumbled rock. They glow vibrantly, contrasting vividly with the green of the Breach.

“The magic involved here must have affected the lyrium,” Solas muses, sounding fascinated by the discovery.

“It’s evil,” Varric says sharply. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

I glance down at him to see his eyes haunted.

“This way,” Cassandra says, dropping off another ledge.

We follow her quickly, landing, finally, at the bottom of the crater. I look up at the rift. It’s massive here. I get so fixated on the idea that it looks like everite that it distracts me as I walk. Green energy swirls around it, constricting and slackening around the green stone-like mass. My hand flickers brilliantly again brought so close, and the quiet ache won’t go away. I look at it, watching the lightning-like pulses twine around my fingers wildly.

_Someone, help me!_

Leliana gasps at the woman's scream. “Justinia!”

_What’s going on here?_

I look up sharply at the second voice, startled even more. 

“That was _your _voice,” Cassandra says to me, shocked and perplexed. “Most Holy called out to you, but—”

The Breach flares again, and I stumble back when the green energy expands. The air around the rift glimmers a new color, and I step back again in shock. The sunburst emblem on the Divine’s clothes shines in the dim light, and I blink rapidly, uncertain I can trust my eyes anymore. 

The Divine’s arms are spread out at her side, and she’s held up off the floor by some kind of red, swirling magic. It keeps her still, even as she struggles against it. A thick, black shadow stands in the foreground of the vision, occupying much of its space. The shadow holds a long, clawed hand out, but I can’t see what it offers past the mass of its body.

Suddenly, someone runs into the scene. Shock grips me tightly when I recognize myself. It takes a long moment to make the connection, as I view myself from an outside perspective—even more confusing because I have no memory of this. None whatsoever.

“What’s going on here?” I demand in the vision, staring up angrily—boldly—at the shadow.

“Run while you can!” the Divine cries, struggling harder against her magical bindings. “Warn them!”

The shadow turns to me in the vision, his eyes glowing red. _We have an intruder._ The same voice as before dances through my mind, itching under my skin, but the creature's mouth doesn't move to speak. _Slay the elf._

The vision explodes suddenly, forcing us all back several steps as it fades and the rift flares. In the background I hear the voices start up again, repeating the same scene over and over again while I stare at the Breach.

“You _were _there,” Cassandra gasps, coming around to face me. Leliana stares at the rift in distress, her eyes haunted. “Who attacked? And the Divine! Is she…_Was _this vision true? _What _are we seeing?”

“I-I don’t know!” I reply, my voice climbing in panic. “I don’t remember!”

Solas walks forward to the Breach, gazing at it in wonder. “Echoes of what happened here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, almost as if speaking to himself. “The Fade bleeds into this place. This rift is not sealed, but it is closed,” he adds more loudly, turning to face us. “Albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the others side.”

“Oh good,” Varric sighs. “More demons.”

“Stand ready!” Cassandra calls, turning to the soldiers as they wait around the temple.

Leliana pulls her bow from her shoulder, her expression hard again. She finds a spot well away from the rift, pulling an arrow between her fingers. Varric moves near her, checking his crossbow. He nods at the soldiers who join us. They file down the temple walls near the Breach, providing a wall. Solas stands beside me, and Cassandra draws her blade. She watches the soldiers ready themselves, nodding at a few. I glance at her, waiting for a signal to begin. When she’s ready, she finds me and nods firmly.

I make a _here goes nothing _face at myself and hold my hand up to the rift. It takes a second to register. I expect it to ache, but it doesn’t. Instead, I feel a surge of magic rush through me powerfully. I step forward once, overwhelmed at first by the intensity. I plant my feet, extending my hand out further. It feels—good. Pure, like raw, untamed magic, but it doesn’t feel out of my control. It feels sharp and strong, unaltered, unchecked. 

I feel the ground tremble under my feet, pebbles jostling against the stone in even beats—footsteps? I glance at Cassandra. She eyes the rift warily, her sword clasped in both her hands. The ground shakes harder and harder the longer the connection holds, and then the rift explodes. The force pushes me back a few steps. I stumble into one of the solders. She rights me, and I grip my staff, moving beside Solas again with an apologetic glance at the woman.

The Veil bursts open, ripping like a seam. Beyond, I can see the murky green world of raw Fade—almost like staring in a pool of swampy water. I feel it coming—something large, larger than anything we’ve yet faced. It continues to shake the ground beneath our feet. My teeth clatter from the force of it until I clench my jaw, glaring at the Breach.

Before I really expect it, something massive launches itself through the rift. It rolls on the ground before standing to its full height, and I stand there staring at it like an idiot.

I’m not the only one taken off guard. A half-second passes before anyone does anything, and then Cassandra’s battle cry launches me, and everyone else, into action.

I hesitate a moment longer, listening to the sounds of fighting. The soldiers roar in unison, charging past me and Solas while I study the demon—Pride, if I’m not mistake. I look for a weakness. It stands significantly taller than us, reaching the heads of those mounted on the temple walls around us. It swats and kicks at those by its feet, pushing several soldiers back. Cassandra lands hard on her hip, but she gets up immediately, bringing another soldier to his feet before she charges forward again.

Solas steps closer to me. “It’s weak beneath the neck, shoulders, and knees,” he calls.

I nod. His staff whips around as he fires ceaselessly. I quickly raise a shield over Cassandra, breathing out the words quickly until the spell is complete. When she’s secure, I turn to the pride demon. I raise my left hand to call down fire, but it reacts with the magic of the Breach instead, sizzling and crackling. I gasp and yank my hand back sharply, feeling stung, as if by electricity. I tighten my hand into a fist, spinning my staff around instead to complete the fire spell. I aim the fireball at the demon’s shoulders, wary of hitting the soldiers by mistake.

The demon roars in response, unfurling a thick coil of electricity like a rope. It unleashes it at us, and I try to raise a barrier over us instinctively. My left hand crackles with the Breach again, and Solas turns to me, pulling me out of the way. I stare at my hand briefly before thanking him breathlessly and hurling another fireball from my staff. Cassandra shouts something to the soldiers, and I look up in time to see the demon’s foot raising to stomp on them. I throw up a quick barrier before it succeeds. The demon trips over my walls, falling to one knee, and Cassandra and the soldiers attack while it's momentarily down. Varric’s and Leliana’s arrows are ceaseless, all aiming at the creature’s neck and shoulders.

Solas is getting tired. I glance at him, seeing his magic weaken, his spells fewer and farther in between as he breathes heavily.

My heart hammers in my chest. We’ve barely done any damage. This is taking too long. My hand aches, and I try to think of what to do, flexing it while I watch the others.

“The demon is getting stronger!” Cassandra shouts as it stands again with a mighty roar.

“More!” a soldier cries out.

I glance over to see what she means as two shades propel through the rift.

“You must seal it!” Solas calls to me breathlessly. “They will keep coming as long as it remains open!”

I hold my hand up, stepping forward. Electricity stings my hand from the attempt. My fingers twitch in midair, and I realize with dismay that I’m too far.

“I’m going in closer!” I call, jogging forward before anyone can argue. I skirt around the edge of the pride demon, ducking clumsily when it lashes its whip again. I raise my hand to the rift again. Fire breathes out of my hand, connecting me with green energy to the gaping tear. I feel it rush through me, and I plead with it to hurry.

_Mythal, I know you’re busy and all, but now would be a great some for some intervention. _

Something tackles me around the middle, slamming me to the ground.

_Thanks._

I scramble, struggling to free myself from the shade demon's claws.

“Help her!” Cassandra shouts.

“I’m fine!” I yell.

Most definitely _not _fine.

I kick at the creature, trying to right myself. I roll as hard as I can to the left, trying to gain the upper hand, but it wrestles me back to the ground. I kick at its body, pressing my staff between us. I push it as far away as I can until I can get a foot against its midsection. I’m about to kick it off when lightning strikes it heavily, disintegrating it. I look up in a rush to see Solas stagger forward, leaning against his staff, exhausted. I scramble to my feet, but another demon grabs my right hand. I raise my left, conjuring fire, and then I scream when it misfires, lightning shooting across my hand. I search for the damage, struggling to free my right hand. My fingers twitch and ache, and I try to freeze the demon, my instincts making me a liability at this point. I gasp and groan when lightning strikes the ground before me, and I think Solas conjured it before I realize it was me. My hand feels cold as ice. I clench it tightly, fear making the adrenaline in me burn brighter. I push the demon off as hard as I can and then use the end of my staff to slice through it.

_Mythal, ma ghilana. _

I raise my hand to the rift, feeling the power surge through me again. My hand glows brilliantly, and I groan at the ache. Exhaustion and panic overwhelm me at the idea that this mark, whatever it is, has affected my magic, but I don't have time to dwell on the fear. 

I step forward, pulled towards the Fade by the connection. The soldiers shout and call to each other, desperation in their voices. I cringe when I see a shade heading straight for me. He reaches out to claw me, and I raise my staff in an idiotic attempt to block it. Before it can catch my arm, it slams into a glimmering wall. I glance back hurriedly at Solas, seeing him wearily concentrating on me, his hand raised as he holds the barrier. I look at him worriedly, aware of how painful low mana is. He holds the wall up and conjures fire with his left hand, impressing me once again as he manages to maintain both spells. He throws it at the demon, which burns up at the same time that the rift explodes outward.

I hit the ground hard, looking up to see that I didn’t seal the rift. I’m anguished before I realize that, while it didn’t do what I wanted, it did _help_.

“The demon is vulnerable!” Cassandra exclaims when it falls to one knee, panting. “_Now_!”

The archers on the walls loose a volley of arrows, aiming them perfectly. The demon roars, shielding its face. The rift flickers and quakes, and I raise my hand again. Nothing happens. I gape, thrusting my hand forward again, but it’s not connecting.

_Fuck!_

I look urgently to Solas, since he knows more about it, but his attention is on the demon, his staff whirling around quickly.

They do a good deal of damage, but it’s not enough to bring it down. The demon rises again, slamming his arm against the temple walls. The archers tumble off, and I thrust my hand out to catch them. I cry out in shock as my hand spasms and flares. Solas catches them quickly, stopping their momentum and bringing them down more carefully. He looks at me as I find his eyes in panic. His expression is unreadable, and I look away, clasping my hand. I breathe out slowly, looking at the rift again.

_Please, Mythal, please help me this one time._

I raise my hand again. The rift flickers angrily, and four more shades emerge from the Fade. I step back to avoid on of them, but my foot catches on a fallen soldier. I gasp and try to correct my step, but I wind up tripping over her instead.

“Are you alright?” I pant, kneeling over her.

“Arm—my arm—” she gasps, clutching her bleeding shoulder. 

I glance up in time to catch a demon’s claws on my staff. I jerk the staff, pointing it at the demon. When it’s in position, I freeze the demon in place, jerk my staff free, and then call down fire upon it. As it burns away with a shriek, I grasp the soldier’s good arm and drag her away from the battle.

“Stay here!” I call. “I’ll be back!”

“Thank you…”

I run back to the rift and hold my hand up to it urgently. The rift pulses and flares as its energy connects with my hand. Green embers fly out like lava between us, burning up before they hit the ground. I gasp again at the burn, gritting my teeth as involuntary tears spring to my eyes. The ache intensifies, bleeding into my bone, making my hand shake in midair as it cuts through muscle. I tighten my fingers into a fist, and the rift suddenly explodes, knocking me off my feet. I look up to it, exhausted, only to see that it’s still open.

“Come on!” I cry, gasping and panting.

I look for Solas again as the demon falls to its knee. The soldiers, Cassandra, Varric, and Leliana double their attack, and I see the demon getting weaker, but I see everyone else wearing thin, too. I find Solas’ eyes in desperation, and he jogs over to me, kneeling beside me.

“What’s wrong?”

“This rift apparently likes being open,” I mutter, standing back up breathlessly.

“I suspect that is the demon's doing,” he replies. “You have weakened it.” He wipes his forehead. “You should be able to close it soon.”

“Okay,” I nod, panting.

“I should warn you,” he adds quickly, searching my eyes, “this rift _is _the first. It—will not be easy to seal.”

I nod seriously.

Solas stands beside me, facing the demon again. His staff spins wildly, and I do feel better having someone near me. I try to catch my breath, focusing all my willpower on my hand. The demon roars, the sound hurting my ears. I look over at it to see it fall, and my lips part when I realize it’s dead.

“Now!” Cassandra shouts hoarsely. “Seal the Breach!”

The rift spews green energy angrily as I raise my hand to it. A cry is immediately pulled from my lips as the ache intensifies blindingly once more.

“Do it!” she calls again desperately.

I feel the rift push me back, fighting me. I force my arm forward again, feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I grit my teeth. A breath slips through my teeth as a groan, and tears spring to my eyes, rolling evenly down my cheeks as they combines with sweat. The magic rips and roars across my skin, and a cry bursts from me again as I close my eyes, dropping my staff to focus my energy on the rift. I feel Solas’ magic combine with mine as he allows me to draw from his will, and I step forward again, gripping my wrist with my right hand. I feel our mana slipping away so quickly.

I grit my teeth and glare up at the Breach. It flares angrily, pulsing and roaring, the sound deafening me. The ground shakes beneath my feet as the rift expands, trying to force me back again. It succeeds, but I step forward once more, closing the distance between us. I stand as firm as I can, feeling the stone beneath my toes, rocks digging into my footwear as I plant my feet. I force a step forward again, feeling fire scorch across my hand. It rips a scream from me, a sobbing cry that I sincerely hope is drowned out by the rift's cacophony.

Before I anticipate it, the rift explodes, a churn of green energy shooting back up to the sky. The force pushes me back powerfully, and I land hard, skidding a few feet before I stop. Solas and Cassandra land beside me, and I look up at the Breach, feeling exhaustion pull me under. My hand aches, and tears run down my temples as my eyes slide closed. I hear Varric call my name, but I can’t manage to answer it. My hand hurts so much I think it must be gone, torn away by the Breach in my attempt to seal it, but I’m too drained to feel anything. I try to open my eyes again as I feel hands press against my shoulders. Someone calls my name again, and then darkness engulfs me.


	4. Herald of Andraste

I frown when I wake up, breathing out sharply in surprise. I rather expected to not wake up at all. I open my eyes languidly to see a warm wooden room, candles burning brightly all around me.

Well, certainly an improvement from the _last _time I woke up.

I look around at the lanterns and the desk littered with papers. A bookshelf rests on the back corner of the wall, and I realize I have no idea where I am and no memory of how I got here.

I really hope this doesn’t become a habit.

I scan the room, startled when I see an elf standing near me, staring at me.

I jerk upright in bed, and the woman jumps back, dropping the box she was holding. Glass jars clatter together in the fall. 

“I-I didn’t know you were awake!” she exclaims, holding her hands up. “I swear!”

I look at her, a confused frown spreading. “Why are you frightened?” I ask, softening my tone. She’s clearly a servant—a scared one.

“Th-that’s wrong, isn’t it? I-I’ve said the wrong thing.” She wrings her hands, her expression distressed.

“No, it’s alright,” I assure her quickly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

She drops to her knees, bowing her head to the floor in such a show of respect that I almost recoil in shock.

“I _beg _your forgiveness and your blessing,” she says, her voice muffled. “I am but a humble servant.”

I jump off the bed quickly and take her hand carefully. “Don’t—you don’t have to do that,” I say, lifting her back up as I try to keep the alarm out of my voice.

“My apologies, my lady.”

I laugh gently. “I’m no lady.” I frown. “I mean I _am_, but not a-a _royal _one.”

A ghost of a smile flits across the girl’s face before she catches it, bowing her head again.

“Where…am I?” I wonder. 

“You are back in Haven, Your Worship.”

“Gah, n-no, no—I’m just Sul. You can call me Suledin or Lavellan or ‘hey lady,’ but none of that honorary stuff, please.”

“They say you saved us,” she whispers, her voice alarmingly awed. “The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone’s talked about for the last three days!”

I look from my softly glowing hand to her. “I’ve been here three days?”

“Y-yes…”

“Wait…So…you’re saying they’re…_happy _with me? They don’t want to send me to Val Royeaux in a box anymore?”

The elven girl steps back, her expression worried again. “I-I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’d wakened. She said, ‘at once!’”

I feel a rush of anger at whomever it is she serves. Or is it just me she fears? “You don’t have to be afraid,” I say, reaching for her. “Don’t leave.”

She shakes her head, walking backwards again shakily. “Lady Cassandra is in the Chantry with the lord chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!”

I watch as she closes the door quickly in her haste to escape. I sigh quietly and look at my hand again. There’s a quiet pain along it, but it feels so dull that I dismiss it. It is infinitely better than the way it was before. It still glows softly, which is alarming and bizarre.

I look down further, frowning. My clothes have been changed for me. Not…sure how I feel about that. I look down at the tight-fitting casual clothes. _Someone’s _casual clothes. Definitely not mine.

_Fen’Harel take me_. Humans wear the most unusual things. Why are there so many buttons? They're not even buttoning anything!

I search the room for anything vaguely mine, and I’m annoyed to see that there’s nothing here—except my gloves, which I see draped over the edge of a chair. There’d better be a good explanation for my missing armor. It was traditional Dalish attire and dear to me. I spot a chest in the corner, and I open it curiously, relieved to see my familiar things. I glance around the little room quickly and then change as fast as I can, relieved to be in my own clothes again, even if they are a little inappropriate for the snow. I like the cold anyway.

I pull my gloves on and secure my Dalish footwear, feeling the cold wood of the house beneath my toes and heels. My hair is unmanageably loose, and I look around the room quickly, catching my reflection in a mirror. I sigh, leaning forward to rub the skin under my eyes. I still look tired, even after so much sleep. I stare at my wild white hair, catching how sharply it contrasts with my dark skin. My vallaslin is as white as my hair, brilliant against my skin. I admire Keeper Deshanna's work once more. Mine is in honor of Mythal; twin branches spread under my eyes, lifting up to my temples gracefully. I've watched Keeper Deshanna apply the vallaslin to countless adolescents on the cusp of adulthood, and I don't think I'll ever get sick of watching the Dalish rite of passage performed. A sense of pride rushes through me, pride in my vallaslin and in my people. 

My frustratingly long hair, however, I'm far less affectionate towards. I return to searching for something to tie it back with. A scroll with twine sits on the desk, and I figure that will do in a pinch. I slowly move the twine off, shrugging vaguely as I pull my hair back into a simple ponytail.

Much better.

I realize my legs are unsteady when I walk to the door—a symptom of three days’ sleep, I suppose. I open the door and step outside, and then I freeze in my tracks as the door closes behind me. Four soldiers stand near the little cabin, their arms crossed over their chests in a manner I’ve only ever seen offered to nobles, kings, generals. Their helmets hide their eyes, but there’s no mistaking that it’s me they’re offering the respectful gesture to now.

I walk forward hesitantly, my eyes widening when I take in the crowd of humans waiting behind them. Men, women, and children—the same people who spat at my feet days ago—peer up at me from behind two long lines of soldiers. I take a quick glance behind me to see if there’s a king or something waiting, but the small yard is clear of anyone else. The soldiers ahead provide a path, winding around the edge of the village up to the Chantry. I step forward again, walking slowly—wildly uncomfortable by the crowd.

“That’s her!” someone whispers eagerly.

“She saved us!”

As I walk, soldiers bow their heads and cross their right arms over their chests, each gesture unnerving me more than if they were all hailing tomatoes at my head. 

“Thank you!” someone else shouts.

I offer a weak smile, nodding.

“Andraste sent you to us!” 

I blink. Okay, not…exactly, but…

“Andraste guides you!”

This is getting…odd.

“She blessed us with your arrival!”

Um…

I walk up a flight of stairs to a myriad of gasps, most of them about Andraste.

What does one do when swarmed with dozens of people lobbing gratitude and uncomfortable praises at them?

“Hello,” I wave. “Good morning…How…are you?”

Apparently, one acts like an idiot.

“She’s the savior!”

Oh boy.

I preferred it when they were spitting.

I spot Varric in the crowd. He leans against the side of a post, his arms crossed casually as he watches me pass. I give him an alarmed, screaming-eyes expression that appears to amuse him, though he makes no move to save me. I also find myself searching for Solas—the only other elf here, apparently, who isn’t a servant, but I don’t spot him.

I reach the Chantry more or less intact and head inside quickly, doing my best to ignore the whispers offered in my wake. Sisters and Mothers line the exterior walls of the Chantry, alarming me more with their bowed heads and folded hands.

“Thank Mythal,” I breathe when I step into the empty Chantry. I frown slightly, wondering if that’s smite-worthy before I shrug and continue walking.

I can hear the shouting when I get halfway to the closed door at the end. Guess I don’t have to ask where to find Cassandra.

“Have you gone _completely _mad?” I recognize Roderick’s voice. “She should be taken to Val Royeaux _immediately_ to be tried by…whomever becomes Divine!”

I open the door quickly and step inside. “I hate to be egotistical,” I muse, “but I rather think this is about me.”

Cassandra pushes off the table, standing upright. Leliana moves her hands behind her back as Roderick crosses his arms and glares at me. Two armed and armored men wait behind me at the door.

“Chain her!” Roderick orders. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra replies smoothly.

The door closes behind me, and I make a sympathetic face at Roderick.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” he seethes, glaring at her now.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat,” Cassandra returns calmly. “I will not ignore it.”

I lean against the table, glancing down at the map. “And here I thought we were ready to part ways as unlikely friends.”

Leliana smirks. “Not quite.”

“So,” I muse, glancing up casually at the chancellor. “Guess that means I’m still a suspect?”

“You absolutely are,” he replies.

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“No,” Cassandra snaps. “She is not.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana adds. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others,” she suggests, casting a glance at the chancellor, “or have allies who yet live.”

There’s an appalled silence before Roderick finds his words. “_I _am a _suspect_?”

“You,” Leliana nods, “and _many _others.”

“But _not _the _prisoner_?” he gapes.

“I _heard _the voices in the temple,” Cassandra says. “The Divine called to her for help.”

He grimaces. “So, her survival, that _thing _on her hand—all a _coincidence_?”

“Providence,” the seeker corrects. It’s my turn to gape. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

I laugh.

Everyone looks at me.

“Surely, you _must _be joking,” I scoff, waving my hands. “I—I’m an _elf_. Hello? Pointy ears? Vallaslin? Evanuris?”

Roderick snorts. “Yes. Providence,” he mutters.

“Not to mention,” I exclaim, “and I’m not being ungrateful here, but you were ready to _execute _me three days ago, and now I-I’m—” I laugh again, bewildered. “—_Andraste’s _chosen?”

Cassandra glares at Roderick and then at me. “I was wrong about you,” she says. “Perhaps I still am. I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed when we needed it most.”

I sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“The fact is, the Breach remains,” Leliana says, “and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is not for _you _to decide,” Roderick snaps.

Cassandra reaches for a tome behind her and slams it down, earning everyone’s attention. “You know what this is, Chancellor?” she wonders, her voice low. “A writ, from Divine Justinia, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order—with or without your approval.”

The chancellor glares at her and Leliana. He brushes past me and storms out of the chamber bitterly. Cassandra offers a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of her neck irritably.

Leliana steps forward, letting her fingers trail against the tome on the table. “The Divine’s directive,” she murmurs, her voice respectful and awed. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old…Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She looks up at Cassandra. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra replies with another sigh. “We must act now. With you at our side,” she adds, looking at me.

“Well…there goes my nap.”

Cassandra gives me the surprise of a lifetime by actually smirking. “Help us fix this…before it’s too late.”

She holds her hand out to me, and I realize that, despite everything, she genuinely is offering me a choice.

I meet her eye soberly, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a thrill of fear. The last time my people made a deal with the Chantry, we lost our homeland; we were rounded up or scattered to the winds. I search Cassandra’s eyes. There is no lie in what she says or what she is. Glancing once at the tome between us, I meet her eye levelly again and reach forward to shake her hand. She grips mine firmly, offering a hesitantly relieved smile as she nods at me.


	5. The War Council

“Must you sit like that?”

I look up at Cassandra and then pull my feet off the table before I continue staring at my hand.

“When will the others be here?” I wonder. 

“Soon," she replies. 

“And they are…?”

“Here to help.”

I nod, flexing my fingers.

“Does it trouble you?” she murmurs, glancing at my fingers.

“It’s stopped spreading,” I shrug. “And it doesn’t hurt.” At this exact moment, anyway.

She smirks. “We take our victories where we can. What’s important is that your mark is stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed, provided the Breach has more power…The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

I make a face, folding my legs up in my chair. I slide down and lean by head against the back, staring at the ceiling. “Mm, what harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?”

Cassandra offers another smirk when I glance down at her. “Hold on to that sense of humor.”

“It’s my top priority, in fact.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t know you could smile,” I muse.

“Ha ha,” she murmurs drily as the door opposite us opens quickly.

“Forgive me, Lady Cassandra,” an Antivan woman in gold says, bowing once. “Our tardiness is my fault entirely."

“Hardly,” a deep voice chuckles. I glance up to see the commander I met that day in the valley.

Leliana follows them in, and I stand up, smiling at them as they circle the table.

“Suledin, this is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra announces with a gesture.

Cullen makes a face. “Such as they are. We met on the battlefield, as I recall,” he says, reaching across the table to shake my hand. “I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“That makes two of us. I do so enjoy living.”

He smirks.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet,” Cassandra continues, gesturing to the woman in gold, “our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

“Andaran atish’an,” she nods in response with a half-curtsy.

“You speak elven?” I grin.

She blushes, casting her eyes down. “You just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

“And of course,” Cassandra adds, “you know Sister Leliana.”

Leliana nods to me. “My position here involved a degree of…”

“She is our spymaster.”

“Yes,” Leliana sighs while I chuckle. “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“Well, now I feel inferior,” I muse, earning a smirk from Cullen.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra says.

“I vaguely recall that conversation,” I reply, eyeing the maps spread out before me.

Cassandra gives a heavy sigh at my sarcasm.

“We must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana murmurs.

“And I still disagree,” Cullen says quickly. “The templars could serve just as well.”

Cassandra offers an impatient huff, and I gather they’ve had this argument before. “We _need _more power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all,” he finishes quickly. “Templars could _suppress_ the Breach, _weaken _it so—”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana interrupts, clasping her hands behind her back.

“_I _was a templar,” Cullen replies. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“Unfortunately,” Josephine interjects, “neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition—and you, specifically,” she adds, glancing at me.

“Mm, that didn’t take long,” I muse.

“Some are calling you, a Dalish elf, the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry.”

I choke and cough. “The—I’m sorry—they’re calling me the _what_?”

Josephine looks up at me from her clipboard. “They are referring to you as the Herald of—”

“She heard you, Josie,” Leliana murmurs.

“Oh,” Josephine smiles, blushing. “Yes, of course.” She clears her throat. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy and _we _heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra grumbles.

“Busy man,” I mutter.

“It limits our options,” Josephine continues. “Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

“I’m sorry—I—can we back up?” Everyone looks at me. “Just—just how, exactly, am _I _the _Herald _of _Andraste_?”

“People saw what you did at the temple,” Cassandra replies, “how you stopped the Breach from growing—”

“There were _dozens _of soldiers there. And—Solas is the one with all the knowledge! He’s the one who told me what to do. Make _him _the Herald!”

“You were the one who _sealed _the rifts.”

“Solas told me how,” I say quickly, glaring at her.

“You have the mark on your hand.”

I narrow my eyes. “Alright, you got me there, but how does _that_—”

“People have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

Leliana grimaces, and I gesture to her gratefully for the reaction. She sighs. “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—”

“Which we have not,” Cassandra adds.

Leliana offers her a blank look before turning to me. “The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it?” Cullen muses, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “How do you feel about it?”

“Oh, marvelous,” I answer. “I’ve always wanted to be a shemlen god’s chosen one. This falls somewhere between having a pet spider and visiting a Circle of Magi.”

Cullen smirks. “Least we don’t have to worry about it going to her head,” he offers, glancing at the others.

“Fen’Harel take me,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose again. “This is, quite possibly…no, this is _definitely _the most absurd thing that's ever happened to me.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana says. “For some, you’re that sign.”

“And to others,” Josephine sighs unhappily, “a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

“Well,” I mutter. “Great first week of the Inquisition, guys. This is…already going great.”

“Wait until the Crow contracts start coming in,” Leliana chuckles.

I stare at her. “And then there’s that—the _Crow contracts_?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she replies with a smirk. “They are under my domain.”

“Wonderful.”

“What we _should _worry about is the Chantry,” Josephine sighs.

I sigh impatiently. “Aren’t they more concerned about oh, I don’t know, the _massive rift in the Fade taking up half the sky_?”

“They recognize the threat it poses,” Josephine allows.

“Oh, good. Glad their priorities are straight.” I sigh again. “Will they attack us?”

“With what?” Cullen murmurs dismissively. “They have only words at their disposal.”

“And yet,” Josephine replies curtly, casting a frown at him, “they may bury us with them.”

“There is something you can do,” Leliana offers.

“Run and never come back?” I guess hopefully. 

Cullen chuckles, shifting his stance.

“A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you,” Leliana continues, moving her arms behind her back again. “She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

I frown. “A Chantry cleric…the same Chantry, mind you, that would see me hanged—wants…to speak with me?”

“She’s a reasonable sort, from what I understand,” Leliana offers with a shrug. “Not one prone to idle gossip or skewed views. You will find her tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“If you’re going to the Hinterlands,” Cullen says, “look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence.”

Josephine nods in agreement. “We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley. And you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

I nod. “No pressure.”

“I will send a group of scouts to set up a camp and scout the area,” Leliana says. “I understand the Hinterlands have been hit particularly hard since the explosion at the Conclave.”

“By what?” I wonder.

“The civil war,” she answers. “Mages and templars. After the explosion, each group thought the other responsible. They have been battling ever since. In addition to their fighting, several rifts appear to have opened, demons patrolling whatever land is untouched by the war.”

“In the meantime,” Cassandra adds with a glance at me, “let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

I cringe at the title. “_Mythal_, please don’t call me that.”

She glares at me. “How can we expect others to believe in you if you will not believe in yourself?”

“I believe in myself just fine. They can call me Glowy Hand or Elf Girl for all I care, but this Andraste nonsense is…_nonsense_.”

Cassandra huffs indignantly, crossing her arms. 

“Well,” I sigh, backing away slowly from the table. “This was…a great meeting. I’m just gonna…head outside,” I say with a wave. “Lovely to meet you all. If you hear I’ve fled Haven, don’t be alarmed. I’ll probably return.”

Cullen laughs quietly, and I wonder as I depart if he realizes I’m only _partly _joking.


	6. Heroes Are Everywhere

I glance up at the Breach again. It still looks like a storm. Green light flashes across the sky intermittently as clouds swirl angrily around the tear. The churning chasm is gone with the first rift sealed, but it is still a massive rip in the sky of our world, showing the murky depths of the next. They were right, though; it _has _stopped growing. The thin edges distinguishing our world from the Fade glimmer in the fading sun, frozen in place. Rocks and boulders hover in the sky around the storm, proving to anyone who would doubt it that the magic involved is foreign and powerful.

I look down at the pebbles I’ve gathered by my feet. I take my left hand's glove off and rub my fingertips against the tip of my thumb, breathing out slowly. I focus on my mana in a way I haven’t had to since I was a child. I extend my hand and try to freeze the pebbles to the ground. My fingertips grow cold, and I frown, focusing harder. I push my hand out further, trying to ignore the green glow as I focus on my magic.

“Come on,” I mutter. "This is basic magic.”

I try again, and my fingers tinge with blue.

I look up sharply when I hear footsteps come down the path. I pull my glove back on hurriedly and move my leg out to topple the small tower of rocks.

Solas glances up at me from the pages of his book when he hears the shuffle. “Oh, I apologize,” he murmurs, pausing. “I did not realize anyone was here.”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, gesturing to the snowy ground. “You don’t have to go. It's a nice spot.”

He glances at me, hesitating from whatever he reads in my expression. “Are you alright?”

“Just hiding from Cassandra,” I reply lightly, crossing my arms over my stomach.

Solas smirks. “I would have thought it the masses of people waiting to meet you that bade you stay here.”

I grimace. “And here I’d almost forgotten. Thank you for the reminder.”

He chuckles once and closes his book. He sits across from me, leaning against the stone wall behind him as he tucks his legs in. I sit up, feeling ungraceful in my slouch.

“The chosen of Andraste,” he muses, glancing at the Breach. “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

I make a face. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

He smiles. “I would have suggested a griffin, but sadly, they’re extinct.”

I sigh and snap my fingers regrettably.

“Joke as you will,” he smirks, “posturing is necessary.”

“Is it?” I sigh quietly.

There’s a long pause filled only with the peaceful chirps of birds and the gentle tug of the breeze. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” Solas admits, his voice melodic and smooth. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” I watch him when he pauses. His eyes seem far away, almost sad. He glances at me, clearing his expression as he offers another small smile. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Hasn’t that already been decided for me?” I muse, making a face at the ground.

“Nothing is inevitable,” he replies quietly.

I glance up at him. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history; every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our world. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins?” I wonder, hugging my legs. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

He smiles at my tone. “I _do_ set wards,” he replies. “And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

“Gah,” I cringe, waving my hand. “Spiders—yeah, that’s—uh-uh, that’s a no-go for me.”

Solas chuckles softly, his eyes amused by my reaction.

I look at him seriously. “I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade,” I murmur. “That’s extraordinary.”

“Thank you,” he replies, sounding genuinely pleased. “It’s not a common field of study for obvious reasons—not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning.” He shakes his head softly, resting it against the stone behind him as his eyes grow far away again. “The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

“It sounds amazing,” I reply, watching the snow drift slowly down. “I wish I could experience that.”

Solas hums softly in agreement. “I will stay then,” he says softly after a long moment. His tone indicates a decision I didn’t realize he was questioning. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“Was that in doubt?” 

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, _I _do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

I glance up at him. “You came here to help, Solas,” I say firmly. “I won’t let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them?” he wonders.

I meet his gaze levelly. “However I had to,” I promise.

His eyes search mine, his expression unreadable until he smiles gently and his eyes soften. “Thank you,” he replies quietly.

“Besides,” I add lightly, “I can’t be the only elven mage around here. Then _I’d _have to deal with all the cutting glances.”

Solas chuckles quietly.

“_There _you are,” someone calls. I look down the thin alley to see Varric walk over. “What’s this? You and Chuckles are hiding, and you didn’t invite _me_?”

“Well, the key was discretion,” I muse. “I saw you talking to Cassandra, and I just couldn’t risk it.”

He laughs, sitting down heavily beside me. “Believe me, I totally get it. So,” he muses, “now that Cassandra’s out of earshot…are you…holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful? Most people would’ve…spread that out over more than one day?”

I shrug. “Eh, I like to be efficient. I’ve never half-assed anything in my life.”

Varric laughs. “Fair enough. I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra. You’re lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage. She is one _tough _jailor.”

“Mm,” I muse, “and you sound intimately familiar with that concept because…?”

“There was once a time _I _was the victim of her interrogation methods. As I recall, she had me kidnapped, blindfolded, and dragged half across Thedas to her torture chamber.”

“Fenedhis,” I laugh. “Whatever _for_?”

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff; I _knew _a guy. Or, well, a girl, in this case.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You know, for _days, _we’d been staring at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“That makes two of us,” I mumble. “It seems like pure luck that I escaped unscathed.”

“Good luck,” Varric chuckles, “or bad? You might wanna consider running at the first opportunity.”

I sigh and snap my fingers. “I tried that. Cassandra caught me and dragged me back in.”

He smirks. “All I’m saying is I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. _Heroes _are everywhere,” he sighs, “I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s…beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

I breathe out heavily. “Fantastic…I feel much better now; thank you, Varric. Just the pick-me-up I needed.”

“Ah, come now. It’s not all on you, you know. You’ve got a whole team behind you.”

“Mm. A spymaster, a diplomat, and a commander who seem to never get along; a Seeker who genuinely terrifies me, a rogue dwarf, and two apostate elven mages, one of whom has just been _ridiculously _named ‘Herald of Andraste.’ What would _possibly _go wrong?”

“That’s the spirit. You know, you remind me of a friend of mine, and she turned out alright! _Despite _all the odds stacked against her.”

“Does she want another go at it? She can take my job.”

Varric laughs. “I think you’ve got this covered, blessed Herald of Andraste.”

“Fen’Harel,” I curse. Solas glances up at me. “I _will _throw something at you,” I threaten, throwing Varric a playfully angry look.

He grins at me. “Hey, you know what, since you’re so approachable and not the chosen one—” I pretend to throw a rock at him, and he holds his hands up. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“I do but go on.”

Solas smirks.

“I haven’t known many Dalish, so it might be rude or…maybe even personal? Shit, I don’t know.”

“I’ll have you flogged,” I warn, earning a wide grin from Varric.

“Your…” He gestures to my face.

“Nose?” I sigh. “I’ve had it since birth, I’m afraid.”

He laughs again. “I know it’s to represent your gods. Which is yours an offering to?”

I smile. “Well, it’s not exactly an _offering_, but mine is for Mythal, the great protector.”

“If it’s not an offering, then what is it?”

“Keeper Deshanna explained to me the importance of choosing our vallaslin, how sacred the duty is to honor the gods of our pantheon.”

“Excuse me,” Solas says quietly, rising quickly.

“See you, Chuckles,” Varric waves before I can reply. “What does Mythal’s mean?”

“She’s the great protector, our all-mother who—”

“No, no, what does it mean to _you_? Why’d you choose hers as opposed to anyone else?”

I bite the inside of my cheek thoughtfully. “I…guess it means…bravery and strength. Protecting the innocent, shielding the helpless, upholding justice. It means…being better—better than we were or _thought _we were.” I shrug uncertainly, giving him a questioning look. "Mostly, it just means giving cheesy answers to serious questions," I add uncomfortably. 

Varric watches me a moment soberly before nodding. “You’re alright, Herald.”

I groan, and he chuckles. “The only thing I’m heralding is my foot to your shin.”

Varric laughs louder. “Alright, alright, message received…O, Chosen One.”

“I will kill you.”


	7. Long Was His Silence

I sigh heavily, looking up at the sky again impatiently. I don’t know why I think the ravens will return if I stare long enough. Leliana advised us to wait until her scouts reported back that the Hinterlands were secure enough to approach. I argued that we should start travelling and await word on the road, but Cassandra was louder.

I stand up and pace restlessly for several minutes. I hate sitting around like this, waiting. While I wasn’t a hunter, I never stayed still for long. Whether Keeper Deshanna liked it or not, I would often hike through the woods for hours, sometimes days, at a time. Of course, it was always in her power to forbid me; she knew I would listen, and I often wondered why she let me go. Perhaps she understood the youthful urge to leave and do something else, to _see _something else.

I suppose I got my wish.

I amble over to Leliana’s tent where she spends long hours working. When I enter, I freeze, realizing I’ve interrupted her prayers.

“‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Maker’s will is written.’” I’m backing away slowly when she suddenly breaks scripture. “Is that what you want from us?” she murmurs softly. “Blood? To die so that Your will is done? Is death Your only blessing?” She looks up at me sharply, standing, and I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised that she heard me enter. “You speak for Andraste, no?” My eyes widen. “What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

I splutter for a second. “Don’t look at me!” I exclaim, bewildered. “I’m—first off, not a prophet, and second off, at a complete loss.”

“The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all: our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave Him _everything _she had, and He let her die!”

I blank at the anger in her eyes—the pain, the fear, the disdain. “I’m sorry,” I murmur quietly. “I…understand how difficult it is. Her death has clearly hit you hard.”

“Not just me,” she whispers, gazing across the courtyard to the Chantry. “All of us. She was the _Divine_. She led the faithful. She was their heart.” Her expression saddens, giving her a weighted look far beyond her years. “If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?” Her voice is so soft, I wonder if she’s even talking to me at all. “I used to believe _I _was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with the Divine, _helping _people.” Her voice grows cold as she stares at the ground. “But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant…nothing.”

I swallow, uncertain what to say to someone who’s lost their faith.

“I’m sorry, Leliana,” I whisper. “M-maybe you have another purpose. Maybe _that _purpose was…leading you to…_this _purpose.” Well put, Sul. “I could help you find it.”

She looks at me, sighing before she gives a quiet laugh. “No,” she murmurs, looking down. “This is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness,” she says, her demeanor changing. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not a weakness to care,” I murmur.

She looks down again, her eyes troubled.

“Want a drink?”

She glances at me. “It’s barely noon.”

I wave my hand. “Time is an illusion.”

She smirks halfheartedly. “Another time, perhaps. I have a lot of work to do.” As she says it, an agent comes into her tent, waiting to speak with her.

I nod at her and exit the tent. I pass Varric with a wave, making my way towards the gates of the little village.

“Oh! Mistress Lavellan!”

I turn back to see Josephine chasing after me, her arms full of papers, a book, and her clipboard.

“Ambassador?”

She comes to a quick stop, dropping the book. I grab it quickly, saving it from the ground. “Oh, thank you so much,” she gasps, taking it back. “I’ve been so scattered today.”

“Would you like some help?”

“No, that is very kind. I was hoping, actually, that you might walk with me?”

“Lead the way, Ambassador,” I reply. “Did you need something?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glances away. “Yes…uh…well, not…_precisely_, but…I should like to know if anyone here has treated you unkindly, Herald. For…being an elf.”

“If they have, they’ve been stealthy.”

“Good,” she nods, relieved. “Please let me know if that changes. If we are to convince the world that Andraste’s Herald is an elf, the Inquisition _must _give you its upmost support. Stories of _wild _Dalish elves have grown _even more _outrageous as people learn of you.”

“Charming,” I sigh. “How much worse could the rumors have possibly gotten?”

“I…would prefer not to repeat them.”

“Give me…something. I’m curious.”

She sighs heavily and replies reluctantly. “Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using infants for blood magic—those are the stories about your fellow Dalish. I won’t repeat what they’ve said about you.”

I glare at the ground. “Delightful. I suppose the magic is about as much of a problem as my ears?”

“It…depends which way the wind is blowing. ‘Magic is meant to serve man,’ the Chant teaches. Close the Breach, and we can claim _that _is why Andraste chose you. Hopefully it will be enough to replace this _gossip _about the Dalish.”

I sigh bitterly. “Why not claim the Dalish can steal your breath or turn into dragons while they’re at it?" I sigh again. "Now that I’ve said it out loud, someone probably has.”

“Very likely,” Josephine replies reluctantly. “I will see what the Inquisition can do to contain the slander.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I appreciate that.”

“It _may _help if I know more about how you and your clan lived,” she suggests, turning to me as we walk.

I look away, sad with the swell of homesickness. “All my friends are there. Everyone I ever knew before now.” I glance at Josephine and straighten. I made my choice to come. I clear my throat and answer her question. “Admittedly, I don’t know what days are like for other Dalish clans, but…for clan Lavellan, we hunted for food, moved camp every few weeks, shared stories in the evening…I think you’ll…understand if I’m reluctant to share the _specifics _just yet.”

“Of course, Mistress Lavellan,” she replies, nodding firmly. “Do you have any intention of returning?”

“Yes,” I answer. “I’d like to see them again when everything is done.” Keeper Deshanna and Assan most of all—the only family I’ve ever known.

“I hope you get the chance,” Josephine offers sincerely. “Whether you’re with them or not, being the clan of the Herald of Andraste will mark them in history.”

I know she says it to make me feel better, but I look down. “That’s what I’m worried about. Elves and fame tend to go poorly together. I hope my clan doesn’t suffer for my actions.”

Josephine hesitates. “I—we can make inquiries as to how they fair, of course. Keep in contact with them.”

“Perhaps,” I nod, uncertain how Keeper Deshanna would feel about that.

“Would you…mind telling me something you enjoyed with your clan? A good memory, perhaps, so I can get a better idea of what like was like.”

I consider it and then smile. “The best part was when the aravels—our landships—would pull off the road and into the trees. I used to spend _weeks _exploring the forests. My keeper would always be less…uh, _pleased _with my disappearances, but I just couldn’t wait to explore. As her First, I was supposed to remain in camp, but she never forbade me from going.”

“You were your clan’s First? That—forgive my lack of knowledge, Mistress Lavellan, but that means you were intended to succeed your keeper, yes?”

I smile. “It’s…a little more complicated, but yes. Keeper Deshanna was training me to take over one day as our clan’s leader.”

“Will they find another First?”

“I’m…not sure,” I admit sadly. “I was declared a First when my magic developed at an early age. I’ve never known another First. I suppose…she will have to find another, in case I…” I trail off.

Josephine misses a beat. “What about family? Who were your friends?”

“My mother died when I was born,” I reply, “in childbirth. My father…” I look across the frozen lake as we pass near it. “He died when I was older. He was a hunter, and he strayed too close to a human village.”

Josephine turns to stare at me. “Surely you are not suggesting…” She looks pales, looking distressed. “Mistress Lavellan, I am—so sorry.”

I nod once to acknowledge her and continue. “I was a…solitary child. I usually wound up reading or exploring by myself as a girl. I spent a great deal of time with the hahrens learning about our history and hearing all our old stories. As I grew older, it became clear that the hahrens intended for me and my childhood friend Assan to marry.”

“Why is that funny?” Josephine wonders, giggling as I laugh.

“I _love _Assan, but we both knew that our kinship was familial, not romantic.” I recall the man Assan only half-jokingly declared he would spend the rest of his life with. My good humor fades when I realize I may not be there to see how it goes. “I’ll miss him most of all.” I frown, trying to shake myself free from gloominess. “Keeper Deshanna was like a mother to me growing up. Needless to say, I was very surprised when she sent me here, so far from home.”

“Did she give a reason why?”

“She did,” I nod with a laugh, “but, as usual, it was cryptic and confusing.”

She smiles warmly, not pressing me further. “Thank you for sharing so much with me. I understand the danger discussing such things could impose. I promise you the information you’ve shared will be protected.”

I nod seriously. “I appreciate that.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” she murmurs, “I have many letters to write!”

She hurries off, nearly dropping her book again. I watch her go, chuckling as she abandons me so far from Haven. I turn around once to glance at the Breach, and then I make my way back to the small village.

***

I spot Cullen across the yard outside the gates of Haven. He calls out orders to a group of soldiers as they train before turning to speak privately with the man standing beside him. As I arrive, he finishes reading a document and quickly signs it, and then crosses his arms, watching the soldiers again.

Since he appears so busy, I decide now is as good a time to properly meet him.

“Shield down,” he orders. “Angle it towards your feet, Breven, or you’ll end up losing it.” I’m not sure if he means _he’ll _take it away or an opponent. “You there! There’s a shield in your hand—block with it. If that man were your enemy, you’d be dead.”

“Whipping them into shape?” I muse, stopping beside him.

He dismisses the soldier beside him, who bows his head at me as he leaves. I resist the urge to recoil.

“We’ve received a number of new recruits,” Cullen replies, his tone softer. “Locals from Haven and some pilgrims.” He glances at me. “None made _quite _the entrance you did.”

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” I grin, eyeing the soldier’s form as they skirmish.

“That you did,” Cullen chuckles, uncrossing his arms. He rests his hands casually on his sword pommel. “I was recruited in Kirkwall myself,” he says, gesturing with a gentle nudge of his head that I should follow him. He walks leisurely through the warring soldiers, and I join him. “I was there during the mage uprising. I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.” 

“Ser,” someone calls, catching up to us. I glance back to the man as he offers Cullen a clipboard with a lengthy paragraph.

“Cassandra sought a solution,” Cullen continues more slowly as he reads. “When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause.” He offers the clipboard back, nodding at the soldier, agreeing with whatever the letter said. The soldier crosses his arm over his chest, hurrying back to wherever he came from. Cullen turns to me, resting his hands on his sword pommel again. “Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“The Conclave destroyed, a giant _hole _in the sky, mages and templars at war—things _could _be better.”

He smirks. “Which is why we’re needed. The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains.” He shakes his head irritably, though his tone doesn’t change. “The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so _much _we can—” He stops, glancing at me with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“Not originally, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “Another time perhaps.” He sighs. “There’s still a lot of work ahead. Sometimes—”

“Commander!” Another soldier jogs up to us. “Ser Ryland has a report on our supply lines, and there are a few templars wishing to speak to you.”

“As I was saying,” Cullen chuckles. 

“I don’t envy you your job,” I grimace.”

“Give it a few days,” he murmurs, reading the document. “This’ll be you.”

“Fen’Harel, I hope not,” I laugh. “If anyone comes at me with a clipboard, I’m running the other way.”

Cullen laughs, and then his expression hardens as he reads. “You must forgive me,” he says, looking up at me. “I must take care of this at once.”

I shake my head slowly. “Damn you, Cullen. Damn you!” I turn around shaking my fists in the air as he chuckles quietly.

I’m heading back into Haven when I see Cassandra fighting a dummy. She throws all her strength into each strike, making me wince each time.

As I approach, she hits the stuffed object too hard, and it topples over.

We both look down at it.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff,” I muse.

She snorts. “_That _would be nice.”

“Like maybe iron.”

She sighs, picking the dummy up. “Did I do the right thing?” she wonders, wiping at the sweat on her forehead before she begins her training again. “What I have set in motion could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a _fool_…and they may be right.”

“Well, what does your _faith _tell you?”

She knocks the dummy over again on accident, sighing as she stands upright. She looks over at me seriously. “I believe you are innocent. I believe more is going on here than we can see.” She rolls her shoulder, testing the balance of her sword. “And I believe one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.” I chuckle once. “But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

I make a face. “Last time I checked, you didn’t have any choice.”

“Didn’t I?” she wonders, hitting a second dummy. It falls after one swing.

“Remind me not to get into a fight with you.”

She snorts. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must _think _before you act.’” She throws her sword down, walking closer to me. “I see what must be done, and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.” She looks at me hesitantly before she squares herself to me. “But…I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

“Can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that,” I hum, folding my hands behind my back.

She smirks at my tone. “I can be harsh, I know.” She turns back, and I think she’s leaving when she stops and glances back at me again. “You’ve said you don’t believe you are chosen…Does that mean…you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

“Oh, no, I have a whole slew of my own gods to disappoint on a daily basis,” I reply.

“And there’s no room among your gods for one more?”

I frown at her. “I could say the same to you.”

She grimaces. “I suppose that’s true…and I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason,” she murmurs, “even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads.”

I watch her leave for a moment. “That was a really cool exit speech!” I holler after her.

I see her faintly shake her head at me as she walks away.


	8. Wisdom and Purpose

“Could you possible work any faster?” Varric wonders.

“Could you possibly complain any _louder?”_ Cassandra shoots back. She jerks the stones together irritably, trying to get the fire going.

“Could you possibly be any grumpier?”

“Could you possibly be any more annoying?”

“Could you possibly pass me that rock?” I ask, turning to where Solas stands a few feet away. “Solas! It’s your turn!”

Varric chuckles as Solas glances at me almost confusedly. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Huntress,” Varric sighs. “Finally, someone to joke with.”

“Alas, I am no huntress,” I smirk.

“I _will _come up with something,” he promises. “That’s sort of what _I _do.”

“Is it?” I muse. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You _wound _me,” he scoffs. “Seeker and Chuckles,” he offers as an example.

“Well…Cassandra _is _a Seeker, so…”

“She’d kill me if I gave her anything else.”

Cassandra gives a humorless grunt, glaring at the wood as she tries to light it.

“Seeker, just let them do it,” Varric sighs. “You’ve got two mages right here.”

“Varric, you are…” She grunts as she searches for the right adjective. “_Utterly _lazy. We cannot rely on magic for _everything_. If they start all our fires, cook all our food, heal all our wounds, they will not be ready for the fighting in the Hinterlands. They will be drained before we even get there.” 

Solas and I glance at each other, sharing an amused smile at the notion.

“Yes,” I gasp. “A fire here is a puff of smoke out there.”

Varric laughs, and Cassandra looks pleased until she catches my tone.

“Fine then,” she grumbles, dropping her rocks. “Light it.”

“Solas?”

“All yours,” he murmurs, moving away from the campsite. He stops on the ledge of the cliff overlooking the valley below.

“See why I call him Chuckles?” Varric mutters.

“Someone should really tell him to simmer down,” I reply. “He’s gonna get us all caught.”

Varric nods in agreement. “I’ve seen some rowdy people in my day, but he takes the cake.”

“At a certain point, it’s just too much.”

“Would you light the fire?” Cassandra sighs.

“Oh right.” I glance at the wood and aim my left hand at it. In an instant, the wood freezes solid. I stare at it. 

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Varric says, spinning an arrow between his fingers.

“Is that not what you wanted?” I ask, forcing myself to go along with the joke.

“Herald,” Cassandra sighs, her tone a warning.

I use my right hand, conjuring a flame to thaw the ice and then dry and light the wood. “Be right back.”

I get up quickly, slamming into Solas when I fail to turn around first.

“Sorry!” I exclaim, jumping back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, catching the look on my face.

“Yep. Just—getting more firewood.”

Solas steps aside, and I move into the trees while Varric gets the stew going.

This can’t be happening. I check my distance to the others, making sure I'm out of sight. When I’m satisfied, I try to conjure a flame with my left hand again. My fingers grow cold, and the trunk of the tree before me freezes solid. I stare at it, testing my right hand. The flame melts the ice again. I extend my left hand and try to conjure ice. A bolt of lightning crashes down loudly, snapping several tree branches.

“Hey!” Varric shouts. “You alright?”

“Yeah!” I call. “J-just—getting more firewood!”

“You don’t have to chop the trees down yourself,” he hollers with a laugh.

I laugh back, but it sounds false and high.

I swallow, staring at my left fingers. I light a flame in my right hand again, and then try an ice dagger. I try my left hand, and the tree freezes once more. I pull my hand back, stepping backwards, a horrified realization settling over me. I can’t control it. I can’t control my magic.

Fear crawls through me, chilling my blood. I stare at my hand a moment longer, and then I pull it back, stepping away from the tree. I jerk my glove back on and then walk back to camp slowly.

“Where’s the firewood?” Cassandra wonders.

“What?”

“The fresh firewood you were lopping off the trees,” Varric chuckles.

“Oh…it was rotten,” I mumble, sitting down heavily.

Varric passes me a bowl of stew, and I close my eyes as it warms my hand.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

Solas accepts his bowl and appears on the verge of leaving when Varric stops him.

“Uh-uh, Chuckles, sit down. You’re not getting away so easily. Sit, sit, sit.”

Solas looks ready to refuse, but he sits opposite me instead, choosing the far simpler of the two options.

Varric nods approvingly. “Good. Now, we all don’t really know each other that well, right?”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise, as if she knows exactly where this is going.

“Come now, Seeker, this isn’t so bad. Chatting. Camaraderie. It won’t kill you, you know.”

“Can’t we just eat in silence and go to bed? We need to get an early start tomorrow.”

“And we will,” Varric sighs. “But before then, we should get to know each other—just a little. I'm not sure what you’ve all seen about it, but this civil war is dangerous, and we will undoubtedly be fighting as soon as we set foot in the Hinterlands. I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather fight alongside friends than acquaintances.”

“We’ve already fought together,” Cassandra points out, “and we all managed to survive.”

“Don’t you think it would be easier to just agree?” Varric wonders. “We can go back and forth all day, eating up just as much time as a couple of harmless questions.”

“Get it over with then,” Cassandra grumbles, eating quickly. “You have until I’m done with my meal.”

“Never change, Seeker,” Varric murmurs. “How about we start with our religious idol?”

“You better not be talking about me,” I say quickly.

Varric chuckles. “Tell us something about yourself.”

“I have brown gloves.”

“Don’t be like the Seeker here, Herald.”

“I will freeze you where you sit if you call me that again.”

“Point taken.”

“It occurs to me that we _don’t _actually know much about you,” Cassandra muses.

“Oh, this just _occurred _to you, did it?” Varric mumbles.

I glance between her, Varric, and Solas, feeling caught. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m…not sure,” Cassandra admits. “Where are you from?”

“My clan never stayed in one place for long,” I reply. “Though we primarily roamed the—”

“Free Marches?” Varric guesses.

“How did you know?”

“Accent. I’m from Kirkwall, but you’re from…further east?”

“That’s quite the ear you have,” I muse.

“I’m all kinds of impressive.”

Cassandra gives another disgusted noise.

“Have you ever been to Kirkwall?” Varric wonders.

“Ah, no,” I chuckle. “I never found myself in many cities.”

“Right,” Varric sighs. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t think your people roamed that far north,” Cassandra adds. “Clearly, I’m mistaken.”

“It was mostly the Blight that took us up there,” I reply.

“Of course…Do you intend to go back?”

“To my clan?” She nods. “I’d like to, when this is done.”

“Did you have anyone there?” Varric wonders, chewing thoughtfully.

I glance up at him, chuckling. “No, no one like that. Friends, though, of course. My best friend, Assan—I miss him a lot. And Keeper Deshanna, of course.”

“What was she like, your keeper?” Cassandra wonders.

“She is…different with different people,” I chuckle. “My own mother died when I was born, and Keeper Deshanna became something of a mother figure to me. She was always kind to me but very firm.” I look up at her. “What about you?”

“What _about _me?”

I smirk. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“You would?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Seeker,” Varric laughs.

“Is that a problem?” I wonder with a smile.

“Not entirely,” she answers suspiciously. “I’m…just curious as to your motivations.”

“No motivation,” I reply, “beyond making things between us less…”

“Antagonistic?” she guesses.

I grin. “Exactly.”

“As you wish,” she sighs. “My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman and was with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right Hand, carrying out her order to form the Inquisition. And here we are. That’s all there is to know, my lady.”

“Did you write that down first?” Varric wonders, missing a beat.

Cassandra glares at him. “I was asked, and I answered.”

“No, you did—you just…it was very…it was a good answer. So, you’re Nevarran royalty, huh?”

“The Pentaghasts are a very large clan. Half of Cumberland could say the same.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“No,” she admits with another sigh, “but it feels that way. I have hundreds of relatives so distant they need charts to prove we’re related at all. And they have them, oh yes. The Pentaghasts value their precious blood like it runs with gold.”

“Mm,” I muse, “so…not on very good terms with your family, then.”

“I do not visit, if that’s what you mean,” she replies drily.

I laugh quietly, chewing slowly.

She sighs. “Someone should keep guard.”

“Seeker, no,” Varric complains, “don’t go. We’re just getting to the best part!”

“Stay all you like, but we’re leaving at dawn.”

Varric watches her go. “Your turn, Chuckles. You’ve been awfully quiet. Where are you from?”

Solas looks over the fire, his eyes distant. “I grew up in a small village to the north,” he replies quietly.

“What, that’s it?” Varric asks after a moment of silence.

“There is not much to tell.”

“No city name or even a country?”

“It is not a name that would evoke much recognition.”

“Mysterious,” Varric grumbles.

“That…_vaguely _reminds me, Solas,” I murmur. “I was wondering about some of your opinions on elven culture.”

He makes a face. “I though you would be more interested in sharing _your _opinions on elven culture,” he replies, his tone irritated. “You are _Dalish, _are you not?”

I frown in surprise, taken aback by his reaction. Varric, too, looks shocked. “I—My people come from the elves who refused to surrender when humans _broke _their treaty and _destroyed _the Dales,” I reply.

“Your keeper was not wrong about that, at least,” Solas answers derisively. “We must mark the occasion of the Dalish remembering something correctly. Perhaps we should plant a tree.”

My jaw drops in shock, and Varric looks between us. “Easy, Chuckles. She’s just trying to be friendly,” he says.

“You insult my people,” I gape.

“They insult themselves,” Solas replies quickly. “Remember, I have walked the memories of the Fade. I have _seen _the history the Dalish imitate.”

I swallow and glance away. I can’t argue with that. “Ir abelas, hahren,” I murmur. “If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right. I know our knowledge is…limited. Strained. What course would you set for us that is better than what we know now?”

Solas looks down and then back up at me, his expression softer. “You are right, of course,” he answers, his tone kind and quiet. “The fault is mine, for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish.” He searches the ground behind me a moment. “Sometimes I forget…Ir abelas, da’len,” he murmurs. “If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask.”

A rush of excitement surges through me, and I sit up. Answers. _True _answers. Something Keeper Deshanna could not—or would not—always offer. “C-could you tell me—no, wait, I want to know—maybe—gah…Could you tell me about elves from before our time?” I ask, tripping over my words.

Solas offers a small smile at my reaction, setting his bowl aside. He holds my gaze, speaking quietly and smoothly. “The Dalish strive to remember Halamshiral, but Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a forgotten land.”

“Arlathan,” I murmur.

“Elvhenan was the empire,” Solas nods solemnly, “and Arlathan its greatest city.” His eyes fall to the fire. “A place of magic and beauty, lost to time.”

“You speak as if you’ve seen it,” I realize, setting my own bowl aside and scooting closer.

“We hear stories of them living in trees and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing.” He’s quiet for a long moment, and I feel a quiet ache for a place I’ve never known. “That is what was lost,” he whispers.

“It sounds wonderful,” I reply as quietly. “I wish I could have seen it.” I stare at the fire for a long moment before another question comes to me. “Are all Dalish elves like my clan?”

“No,” he answers. “Your clan was unique in having enough interest in human affairs to send you to spy upon the Divine’s meeting. As your clans have been separate for so long, they have all changed, adapting to the lands in which they lived. Some are no more than bandits, others trade freely with humans, and some have disappeared entirely into the forests.”

I blink slowly, transfixed by his melodic tone. “What about city elves?”

“The culture in alienages or among the slaves in Tevinter is like any of the impoverished and powerless. They cling to memories of a better past, practice a few rituals to distinguish themselves from humans.”

I look down. “Are they…happy?”

Solas is staring at me when I look up again. His expression is hard to read, but his hesitation makes me wonder what he’s thinking. “That is a complicated question. Some are, perhaps. They find happiness in their rituals, in honoring what few traditions they have. For most, it is a bleak existence. For others, it is a prison whose guards torture and torment regularly.” I sag. “I have crossed paths with many spirits who reflect the knowledge of those who lived there. There is a hope in the alienages of joining the ‘free’ and nomadic wanderers, but the Dalish are no less shackled.”

“What do you mean?” I wonder.

“You said yourself that you must move regularly, that you were unable to venture into cities. Clans either disappear entirely or else risk human discovery and the inevitable ruin that wreaks. Is that so free?”

“It’s better than an alienage,” I murmur. “Better than a Circle.”

“Granted,” he acknowledges. “I have lived my own life not so very differently.”

“Were you originally Dalish?”

“No.”

“City elf?”

“No.”

I glance to the side. “S-slave?”

He gives me a stern look. “No. I have wandered for most of my life. As an apostate mage, I cannot stay in one place for too long, as you understand.”

I nod.

“I'm heading off to bed. Good night, fellow Marcher,” Varric murmurs, his voice tired.

“Good night, Varric,” I smile. He returns it sleepily, stumbling to his tent. I look back at Solas. “Are you tired? Would you rather go to bed?”

He smiles softly in return. “If you have more questions, I will answer them to the best of my ability.”

I grin, sitting up straighter. “Do you know if the magic they teach in Circles is different from the magic I learned with my people?”

He sways his hand to indicate a difficult answer. “No, and yes,” he replies. “Magic is magic, just as water is water, but it can be used in different ways. Dalish magic is more practical, not needing Chantry approval, although they still frown on blood magic—superstition,” he adds quietly. “Much of it is more subtle, a legacy from when elves were immortal.”

“The legends of elven immortality,” I murmur. “Did they use magic to increase their lifespan?”

“No,” he answers softly, his eyes falling to the flames between us. “It was simply part of being elven. The subtle beauty of their magic was the effect, not the cause, of their nature. Some spells took years to cast. Echoes would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in an unending symphony. It must have been beautiful,” he whispers, his voice so somber than I can’t find mine for several minutes.

It hurts to imagine it. Not knowing is a quiet ache, but it must be so much worse for Solas. He _has _seen it—the echoes of an ancient, unrecognizable world. He’s studied our origins, seen what we once were. I can’t imagine waking up again in our world, to where magic is stunted and feared and hunted. 

I swallow and look up at Solas again, emerging slowly from my reverie to find him waiting patiently. “You said that the censor against blood magic was superstition?”

“I did,” he nods, unapologetic. He smiles softly at my surprise. “It is fortunate Cassandra is not within earshot.”

I chuckle quietly. “She would…have opinions,” I grin.

He smiles again, his eyes holding my gaze. “Most modern cultures forbid blood magic. Publicly, even Tevinter disapproves of it. But as I said, magic is magic. It matters only in how it is used.”

I wince, looking down. “I saw blood magic used once. It was…” I search for the word. “Horrifying.”

“When used vilely, yes,” he nods.

“So, if I whipped out a knife…”

He laughs gently. “I would not judge you for it. There was a time when I considered using it myself, but unfortunately, using blood magic seems to make it more difficult to enter the Fade. A shame,” he muses, “as it is extremely powerful.”

I grimace again. “You don’t think it…I don’t know…dehumanizes us?”

He looks up at me, perhaps to gauge my own opinion. I try to keep my expression neutral again. “It matters only in how it is used,” he reminds me softly, his tone almost amused. “If you were to, say, use the blood of a child to increase your own lifespan, then yes, that would dehumanize. If you were to use your own blood to safely and practically defeat, say, a demon who would murder countless others, then I see no problem with it—provided it is used as a _tool_, not a crutch or a passion. The _true _problem lies in those who turn to it as a desperate last resort, particularly those poorly educated in its power. _That _is where you get abominations. That is where the true danger lies.”

I consider that, chewing the inside of my cheek thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something unrelated?”

“Of course.”

“Can I ask you something personal? About you?”

“Why?” he wonders, his voice friendly but guarded.

“You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help us.”

“Not the wisest course of action, when framed that way.”

I laugh, and he glances up at me. “I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas. I just wanted to know more about you.”

“I am sorry,” he smiles, looking down at the fire again. “With so much fear in the air…” He sighs, offering another apologetic smile. “What would you know of me?”

“What made you start studying the Fade?”

He considers for a moment. “I grew up in a village to the north, as I mentioned. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. As I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I _treasured _my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.”

“Did spirits try to tempt you?” I wonder.

“No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately temping you to eat it.”

I laugh. “Fair point.”

He smiles. “I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore,” he murmurs, his voice passionate and quiet.

“I gather you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming?”

He chuckles softly. “No. Eventually, I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.”

“Why?” I wonder.

He looks up at me, his expression unreadable. His eyes stay on mine for a long moment, as if attempting to read me. “Two reasons,” he finally replies. “First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects, and is limited by, our imaginations. Simply put: to find interesting areas, one must be interested.”

I grin. “Are you saying you’re an interesting person?”

He chuckles, caught off guard. “_Interested_,” he corrects, amused.

“_Mmhm_,” I hum, earning an endearing smile in return. “Is that why you joined? The Inquisition, I mean. To find new areas to explore?”

“I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger,” he answers more solemnly than I expect. He blinks and looks up at me, a flare of levity returning. “If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.”

I laugh. “Better reason than mine.”

“What is yours?”

“Cassandra strong-armed me.”

He offers a quiet laugh. “I do not believe that,” he muses. “That she strong-armed you, yes, but you have had many opportunities to leave, yet here you are.”

“Well, I have been known to make poor life choices, so…” He smirks at me. “As for your wanderings in the Fade, I wish you luck.”

“Thank you,” he replies, his voice indicating sincerity. “In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?” I wonder, smiling without realizing it at first.

“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession,” he answers, his eyes appraising mine evenly. “The grace with which you cast is a pleasing side benefit.” My cheeks warm, and I look down. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike, because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

“So you’re suggesting I’m graceful?” I muse.

“No,” he answers. “I was declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.”

My cheeks flame, and I grin like an idiot, looking away with a surprised giggle that makes me feel even more idiotic. “Mm,” I muse wordlessly, trying to refocus my attention. I clear my throat, unable to look at him as I voice my next question. “You said you’ve traveled to many different places?” I ask, my voice a touch high.

I glance back stealthily to see Solas smiling softly at the flames before he nods and meets my eyes. “This world, or its memory, is reflected in the Fade. Dream in ancient ruins, you may see a city lost to history. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities, long picked dry by treasure-seekers. The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you can slip across with but a thought.”

“Which battlefields?” I wonder, sitting straighter again.

“I dreamt at Ostagar,” he replies. “I witness the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Ferelden warriors. I saw Alistair and the Hero of Ferelden light the signal fire, and Loghain’s infamous betrayal of Cailan’s forces.”

“What?” I exclaim far too loudly. I look around quickly as Solas chuckles. Cassandra turns to me, perhaps thinking something is wrong, and I wave apologetically. “You _saw _them?” I gasp more quietly. “What was she like? The Hero of Ferelden! What really happened? Did Loghain betray them? I’ve heard so many different stories, all conflicting!”

He smiles again, eyes appraising mine again. “That’s just it,” he admits. “In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire, and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed, and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

“And you can’t tell which is real?”

“It is the Fade,” he replies softly. “They are all real.”

I smile at the poetry of his response. “What was she like? You saw the Warden-Commander?”

“Yes, though it was several months before she truly found her place as a Grey Warden. In Ostagar, she was brave, fighting her way through darkspawn to reach the Tower of Ishal against all odds. In one memory, I saw her save a man from several of the creatures. In another, she led Alistair and several other men through the Blight-infested grounds, fearless in her endeavor.”

I grin widely. “Gah, that’s so—I tried to learn as much about her as I could. She’s a city elf, and she managed to…change the entire world! I mean, she—she—by _herself_—” I shake my head.

“Indeed,” Solas smiles.

I swallow. She’s just a person. Just a really cool, insanely tough, inspiring person. Move on, already. “Have you always traveled and studied alone?”

“Not at all,” he answers warmly, his tone fond. “I have built many lasting friendships. Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of Purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

I grin. “That’s…” I hesitate. “I’ve—never heard of any spirits by those names, I’m embarrassed to admit.”

“They rarely seek this world,” he replies. “When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

I look down, feeling his eyes on me. “That’s sad,” I murmur. “But also…incredible that you can find them and learn from them, that they feel comfortable seeking you out. It…makes me regret all the ones I’ve passed without realizing, all the ones that I could have befriended or learned from…” Solas observes me, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade, Solas. That’s extraordinary.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “In truth, I enjoy the company of spirits to most people. However, thanks to the Chantry, they are not _viewed _as people, because they lack bodies of flesh and blood. Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?”

I laugh softly, biting my lip to stop it when it sounds too close to a giggle. “You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas.”

“I try,” he muses, “and that isn’t quite an answer.”

I shrug, glancing up at him with a bold flare. “I look forward to helping you make _new _friends.”

He blinks, surprised. “That should be…” He hesitates, eyeing me, perhaps to gauge whether he caught my meaning right. “Well…”

“That isn’t quite an answer either,” I laugh softly.

He chuckles once, looking over the valley beside us.

I chew my lip, peering at the flames as my thoughts pull in several directions. “May I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“Can you—could you tell me more about the Fade? What do you know about it?”

“A great deal,” he admits, “from my wanderings. There are few hard facts, but I can share what I have learned, if you have a question in mind.”

I laugh. “Try dozens.” I glance up at the sky, at the large flickering green mass. “What do you know about the Breach?”

Solas folds his legs in, looking at me evenly across the fire. “Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade, allowing spirits to enter the world physically. Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the Veil or when spirits cluster at an area that has seen many deaths. But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach. That means it was created deliberately.”

“The mark or the Breach?” I wonder.

“I meant the Breach, but both, I suppose. They appear to be intrinsically tied to one another.”

“Who would do this?” I whisper. “Who would open that thing deliberately? Surely they couldn’t have known the consequences.”

Solas looks down, his expression solemn. “My guess? Only desperation can move someone to such lengths.”

“Desperation of what?” I wonder.

He doesn’t answer for a long time. “I cannot say,” he finally admits. “I can only speculate, of course.”

I let that sit a moment, the weight of the temple growing heavier again in my mind. “What about the Veil?” I ask to move on.

“Circle mages call it a barrier between this world and the Fade, but according my studies in ancient elven lore, that is a _vast _oversimplification. Without it…Imagine if spirits entered freely, if the Fade was not a place one went but a state of nature, like the wind.”

I pause, letting myself picture it. “It sound like it would be wonderful,” I murmur.

“And dangerous,” Solas nods, a small smile ghosting his lips even as his eyes appear sad. “But yes, a world where imagination defines reality, where spirits are as common as trees or grass.”

“Wow,” I breathe, interrupting. “Sorry,” I add.

He smiles at me, and then sighs. “Instead, spirits are strange and fearful, and the Fade is a terrifying world touched only by mages and dreamers.” He hesitates and then looks at me sincerely. “I am glad that I am not alone in seeing the beauty of such a world, along with the obvious peril.”

“It would be…so different,” I murmur. “So beautiful…raw imagination…Would demons exist in such a world?”

“Spirits would have no barrier, nothing to keep them trapped. Demons occur when spirits are either twisted against their purpose or when envy renders them weak to corruptions. Demons, as you know them, would no longer exist. There would still, of course, be those who were warped by emotion, altered by something entirely out of their control. But it would be different.”

“What would happen?” I suddenly wonder.

“What do you mean?”

“If the Breach kept expanding.”

Solas drops his eyes, and I watch as the flames from the fire dance in them. “This world would be destroyed.”

I blink. “But you just said—”

“If there was no Veil at all,” he corrects softly, his tone grim. “If it did not exist, if it never had. But it does. And to remove it…would release chaos into this world. A new world would emerge…at the price of this one.”

I look down, feeling heavy again, though this time I’m not certain whether it’s his answer or the defeat in his voice. Perhaps a combination of the two. “What…what about demons?” I murmur, clearing my throat softly after a long moment. “What can you tell me about them?”

Solas nods. “Your Dalish say that demons hate the natural world and seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living, but such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations, and in so doing, do all a great disservice. Spirits wish to join the living, and a demon is that wish gone wrong.”

“That’s…very sad,” I murmur, frowning. “Is there…I don’t know, a way to coexist? To live with them…if not in peace, at least without such active confrontation?”

“Not in the world we know today,” Solas sighs. “The Veil makes true understanding most unlikely.” He looks up at me. “But the question is a good one, and it matters that you thought to ask.”

I don’t know why the simple comment sets my cheeks aflame, but it does. I gaze at the fire. “Can I say something wildly inappropriate after knowing you all of five minutes?”

Solas looks amused and nods.

“You seem sad.”

His amusement fades, and his eyebrows pull together, perhaps in confusion, though I don’t look at him long enough to read it.

“I don’t know how else to say it…but you seem sad.”

He starts to answer, but I wave him off.

“I just—wanted to say…I’m sorry, I guess. I’m sorry that you’re…sad.”

Solas watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Your name,” he murmurs. “Suledin.” I look down. “Your people placed a heavy burden on your shoulders.”

“And an unfair one on yours,” I point out, deflecting.

His lips twitch in amusement. “Fair point.”

I consider him. “You know what I think you are?”

“What?” he wonders, entertained.

“Ghil-Dirthalen.”

He laughs softly. “Because I answered a few questions?”

“Because you have this…entire _world _of knowledge at your disposal. I hope you get used to me asking you inane questions, because I’m bound to have a million more pop up sporadically.”

“There is nothing inane about your questions. They reveal a thoughtfulness about the world around you.”

I blush. “Well, thank you for answering.”

“I will continue to do so, to the best of my ability.”

“Spoken like a true Ghil-Dirthalen.”

He chuckles, offering an amused smile before he returns his gaze to the flames between us.

I glance up, startled when I realize the moon shifted further than I expected. “Well, it is _certainly _later than I thought.”

“I apologize,” Solas murmurs. “I have a habit of getting carried away with—”

“It was fascinating,” I grin. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Thank you for listening,” he replies, his eyes trapping mine.

I smile and stand with difficulty. “Good night, Solas.”

“Good night, Suledin,” he answers softly, his eyes still sad as he looks down at the fire once more.


	9. Holding the Hinterlands

I’m more than a little out of breath by the time we reach the top of a cliff overlooking the Hinterlands. I do my best not to reveal that detail, since my travelling companions apparently are made of sturdier stuff. Varric was right; we encountered several outlying groups of mages and templars on the way here, either hiding or outright fighting. When they attacked on sight, we were forced to respond, and I’m still tired from it. 

The Inquisition camp is bustling when we arrive. In addition to numerous lookouts posted around the perimeter, several scouts are at a table, studying a map seriously. One of them glances up, a dwarven woman with tightly braided red hair and brilliant green eyes. She moves away from the others, waving at me as the others and I approach. 

“Herald of Andraste!” she calls warmly. 

I try not to react to the name, though it makes me want to recoil. She smiles, stopping before me as I discreetly try to catch my breath.

“I’ve heard the stories,” she continues, “everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. It’s odd for a Dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no backtalk here. That’s a promise.”

I laugh. “Thank you—I…think.”

She smirks. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I—well, all of us here—we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

“Harding, huh?” Varric muses, leaning casually against the table beside us. “Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

Scout Harding shakes her head once. “I can’t say I have. Why?”

“Because you’d be _Harding in_—oh, never mind.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise, and I chuckle, clearing my throat to cover the sound when Cassandra glares at me.

I turn back to Harding. “To be honest, I’m starting to worry about these _stories _everyone’s heard.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” she assures me. “They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Oh. Wonderful.”

She grins at my tone. “You picked a fine day for it. The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start…fixing things. We came here to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horse master.” Harding’s expression tightens. “I grew up here…and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks.”

“Has there been a problem?” I ask as her eyes grow more serious.

She grimaces. “With the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s still alive.”

“We’ll find him,” I assure her. “And we’ll try to help with the fighting. I’m assuming they both have strongholds in the valley? The mages and templars, I mean.”

Harding nods. “As far as we can tell, the mages are holed up somewhere northeast of us in the woods. A few of my men tried to scout it out, and they all returned wounded. We’ve _seen _the templars’ base in the west. It’s on the way to Dennet’s farm, but we couldn’t get close without some warriors. The templars are armed to the teeth.”

“We’ll take care of it,” I promise.

Scout Harding offers a formal nod. “Thank you. It would make the roads much safer for my men if those bases were destroyed. Mother Giselle’s at the Crossroads in the valley below. She’s been helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war’s spread there, too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but…they won’t be able to hold out very long. You best get going. No time to lose.”

“Thank you, Scout Harding.”

She gives me another warm smile. “Good luck, Herald.”

I watch her go and then turn to the others, looking at Varric in particular. “Are they going to call me that forever?”

Varric chuckles, patting my arm. “There, there, Snow. It’ll all be okay.”

I narrow my eyes at him playfully. “You already tried that one.”

“Honestly, it’s just too fitting. Chuckles, Seeker, help me out. She’s a Snow, right?”

Solas glance at me as I roll my eyes at Varric. “We must get moving,” he murmurs.

“Agreed,” Cassandra says with a glare at Varric.

“Right. Anyone know how to read a compass?” I wonder.

Cassandra glares at me.

“Fen’Harel, I’m _joking_, Cass, _really_.”

“She’ll loosen up,” Varric whispers to me.

Cassandra huffs. “I _heard_ that, dwarf.”

“I should hope so, Seeker.”

“I see all the makings of best friends here,” I smile proudly, gesturing to them both.

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise once again while Varric scoffs.

“I’d rather pull out my own nails and eat them,” he mutters.

I blink hard, recoiling a little. “Well. That was…vivid.”

“I would rather return to Nevarra,” Cassandra adds.

I laugh loudly. “Oh, she got you there, Varric. Point Cassandra.”

“Fair enough, Seeker. Well played.”

I pretend to snap to attention. “Now, enough horsing around. We have a horse master to find. Yes, I know that was hilarious. We don’t have time to laugh! Let’s go.” 

Varric chuckles, shaking his head at me as I turn around. I lead the way—because apparently I’m qualified to do that now—down a steep bank away from the Inquisition encampment. Solas follows me and then Cassandra and Varric, who bicker back and forth quietly before they both fall silent. When I reach the ground, I look up and realize why.

“Mythal,” I breathe.

“First time seeing the war, huh?” Varric sighs.

My eyes trail down the carnage—mages cut in half, templars frozen to the hillsides, blood and body parts sprayed against the rock and grass.

“More will be lost if we linger,” Solas says quietly.

“Yeah,” I mumble, blinking slowly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

I try to avoid the bodies strewn haphazardly across the makeshift battlefield. Trees have been cut down, sliced apart by lightning, ice, or misplaced swings from battleaxes. Swords lay scattered throughout, along with several bloody staffs, some stabbed into fallen trees or the ground, some simply lying beside inert bodies.

“There!” Cassandra calls, startling me. “Inquisition forces! They’re trying to protect the refugees!” She jogs ahead of us through a small canyon, pulling her sword out swiftly.

“Looks like they could use a hand,” Varric replies, patting my back once before he jogs ahead too.

I glance down once and then run forward, gripping my staff tightly. I take half a second to determine where I’d be most useful. Cassandra runs into the thick of the fighting, throwing herself into the battle without hesitancy. Varric moves off to the right, flanking the mages and templars. I empty my mind and focus on my energy, forcing myself to think only as far as my next spell.

Last night, my hand was acting up, but earlier today, I was able to use it in fighting. I take a breath, praying to Mythal before I conjure a flame and smoothly pass it to my staff with my left hand. Relief floods me when it works again. Perhaps it was a fluke thing.

Solas stops beside me, throwing up a shield around Cassandra as she charges forth fearlessly. I fall into my old habits, breathing with relief through my spells, giving them form and life as I launch them from my staff, spinning it around as I have for most of my life. I regain my confidence as we fight through waves of templars and mages, tapping my staff to the ground to deliver powerful blows of fire, ice, and lightning—my specialties.

A group of templars run at Solas and me, and I call ice to my hand quickly. As soon as I breathe the word, a shudder runs down my arm, and I feel the air crackle. Once pale white, the spell turns a vivid purple, a bolt of lightning slamming to the ground just beyond my fingertips. I cry out, both in surprise and fear, falling backwards.

“Suledin,” Solas calls, stepping back once as he deals with the templars. “Are you alright?”

I gasp and grip my hand, yanking my glove back on. My skin feels singed and flaming—like it did before we closed the first rift. I nod at Solas and find my feet, sweat beading my forehead in sheer terror.

“Hold!” Cassandra orders as templars flank her. “We are not apostates.”

“I do not think they care, Seeker!” Solas replies quickly, throwing another shield around her when a flurry of arrows races to her.

I breathe out in a rush, gripping my staff tighter. I clench my left hand, keeping it well away. Using my staff alone, I join the battle again, all my attacks slightly delayed when I realize I can't quite trust myself. The weight of my staff feels wrong with just one hand, and I fumble more than once. Solas glances at me as I work, and I try harder to appear more normal as I cast. 

A group of mages rushes down the bank beside us, joining the fight with a loud battlecry.

“We are not templars!” Solas calls to them imploringly. “We mean you no harm!”

“Doesn’t look like they’re listening, either,” Varric returns.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.

Inquisition swords ring shrilly against the templars' blades and shields, clashing and bashing as they try to get enough leverage for a victory. I keep my left hand away, though it goes against my instincts. Each time it rises to fight, I have to force it back down. Solas moves fluidly beside me, his technique refined and powerful. He grips his staff with both hands, fueling enough magic to level a house. I consider holding my staff similarly, but I worry it won't work. Instead, my right arm aches under the weight, and a headache develops as I force myself to focus magic through only one outlet. It feels wrong and unnatural.

It feels like hours that we spend fighting. By the time the last man falls, I’m exhausted and drained. I drop my staff, resting my hands on my knees as I pant and wobble.

“Fen’Harel,” I gasp as Solas glances down at me. “That’s gonna get old.”

Varric jogs up beside me breathlessly. “You alright, Snow?”

“Fenedhis,” I curse. “Define—alright.”

“Arms and legs still connected?”

“Yes. I know this—because they are all—in a great deal—of pain.”

He chuckles. “Then you’re alright.”

“Dread Wolf, is this Mother Giselle here or what?” I breathe, picking my staff up again.

“I believe I see her there,” Cassandra replies, pointing. She’s winded but, as usual, far more composed. “Among the refugees.”

“Ah—all the way—over there…Okay—just—give me—a second—_shit_—”

Varric smirks. “So, you fight in a lot of battles or…?”

“Yeah—all—the time. It’s—gah—my favorite—pastime.”

“Thought as much.”

“For the love—of Sylaise—why—do people do this—when we could all—be at home—drinking tea—and complaining—about the weather?”

Varric chuckles again. “C’mon, Snow. Let’s go see what that mother wants.”

“Holy halla—I’m coming—I’m coming—just give me—a year—to walk over there—”

Cassandra leads the way, as strong as ever. She’s made of granite, I swear she is. Solas follows her, then Varric with me, the ‘leader,’ pulling up the back. If I cared more, I might be offended. At least back here, I can huff and pant without too much notice.

My travel companions suddenly stop and turn to me, and I stand upright, pretending to have caught my breath all the while cursing my sedentary lifestyle. Two Inquisition soldiers are erecting a banner—our banner, and I realize with a whoosh of pride that this is a big moment. The first place officially under Inquisition protection. Something like patriotism rushes through me, and I smile gratefully at the soldiers. They cross their right arms over their chests, nodding formally as they part ways with us. I take a moment to enjoy the victory, glancing and smiling at Cassandra. She eyes the flag with a similar pride, her eyes shining with duty and a promise.

I admire the banner once more and then mount the steps to the makeshift medical camp at the top surrounded by several cabins. I see the mother—the only one—bending over a cot where a wounded man writhes in pain.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” Mother Giselle murmurs softly in a thick Orlesian accent. “Lie still."

“Don’t—let them touch me, Mother,” the soldier gasps. “Their magic is—”

“Turned to noble purposes,” she finishes sternly. I want to be angry at his accusatory implication, but then I see the burns lacerating his arms and neck, and I know it wasn’t the templars he crossed in battle. “Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.”

“But—”

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.”

The soldier lies back, closing his eyes. He winces when the mage comes close, but he doesn’t fight the robed man. Mother Giselle watches a moment before standing. She turns, spots me, and then makes her way over slowly.

“Mother Giselle?” I check, clasping my hands respectfully behind my back.

“I am,” she nods, “and you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“Not through any choice of mine,” I assure her quickly.

She chuckles. “We seldom have such choice in our fates.”

I frown slightly. I would have expected her to be as offended by the title as I am. “I’m told you asked for a chance to speak with the Inquisition?”

“I asked for a chance to speak with _you_,” she corrects gently. She motions me forward, and I follow her, checking back for the others. Cassandra turns to a man who looks in charge enough to be Corporal Vale, I assume. Varric joins the healers as they work, talking with them somberly. Solas stands nearby, scanning the aftermath grimly. His expression shifts into mild anger when a mage is dragged in. From the wild, frightened look in the man’s eye, he’s clearly the victim of nullification. I look away quickly, following the mother.

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement,” she murmurs, coming to a stop far away from the others, “and I’m familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: Some of them are simply grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us.”

“What happened was horrible,” I agree quietly.

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason." She gives me an imploring look. "Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

I gape at her and then quickly close my mouth, laughing once humorlessly. “You—” I clear my throat. “The people who want me _executed _before a cheering crowd—you want me to-to, what, _appeal _to them? Won’t that just make things worse?”

“Because you are not human?”

I scoff. I hadn't even _gotten_ to that reason yet in my list of why that would be a disaster. “That, too,” I reply.

She purses her lips. “Let me put it this way; you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to…_doubt_. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

I open my mouth to argue, but it actually makes about as much sense as the rest of this. “You…” I sigh, “are very persuasive.”

She offers a smile and a warm chuckle. “Your humor is a light in the darkness. Hold onto it.” 

“Oh, I intend to." I glance down, resting my hands on my hips. "It’s good of you to do this,” I add seriously.

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us…but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. Look at what you’ve done here,” she says, offering the Crossroads a wide sweep of her arm. “Your soldiers already patrol and stand guard at the gates, giving our healers time and space to aid those wounded by this civil war without the threat of another attack. The banner placed by your men inspires more hope than you could possibly imagine. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us or…destroy us. Your actions shape the world around you; your decisions have brought you here, today, to help these people. Where will they take you next, I wonder?”

I flit between her eyes, feeling a little weightless as she speaks of destiny. “No…pressure.”

She smiles again warmly. “I will go to Haven,” she murmurs, “and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

“Thank you, Mother Giselle.”

“Thank _you_, Herald.” She nods at me and turns, heading down the steps below me leisurely. I watch her somberly, crossing my arms loosely. 

“Well?” Cassandra says.

I jump. “Holy—how did you get here so fast?”

“You can be very unobservant,” she retorts. “What did she say?”

“She says some of the Chantry can be reasoned with.” Cassandra scoffs. “Yeah, it was more persuasive when she said it. She also is heading to Haven to speak with Leliana.”

“Well, that is good news.”

I nod, rubbing my forehead briefly. “I think we should find those bases Scout Harding mentioned, retrieve Master Dennet, and then head back to Haven.”

Cassandra nods. “We have little time, but...yes, we must do something to help.”

“Excellent. Well. Onwards and upwards.”

Cassandra sighs at me and turns around. I shake out my left hand and follow her lead.

***

That night, I’m completely drained and exhausted. We spent the day tracking down the mages in the trees and destroying their main camp. Whatever supplies they had, we took back to the Crossroads and then sent soldiers to retrieve the rest. We found the templar encampment and did the same. A few templars escaped, but they've lost their stronghold and with it, their leverage. In a small farming homestead, we found and recruited Master Dennet and, after some persuasion, managed to convince him to gather his horses and head to Haven at once. As we were returning to a newly established Inquisition camp, we passed by a rift. It hurt so much to close that it actually made me cry, an embarrassing fact that I did my best to hide from the others, walking away briskly, clutching my hand as soon as the rift was sealed. If the others noticed my behavior, they must have assumed I was tired, because no one commented on it. My skin felt singed for hours afterwards, aching and throbbing to the point where I searched it for obvious signs of inflammation or cuts, finding neither.

At camp, we have a quiet dinner with a few Inquisition soldiers and scouts. I don’t eat much, though I was initially starving. My thoughts become consumed with the problem of my magic and the echo of pain still lancing down my bones. Varric and Cassandra turn in early, within minutes of each other. Exhaustion weighs so heavily on me that I feel dizzy, but I wait until Solas is by himself to approach him.

“Solas?” I murmur quietly, careful to not startle him. I clutch my hand tightly, as if to keep the pain at bay, but it flares up my wrist anyway, lighting a fire under my skin as I wince. 

He looks up inquisitively from his book.

“Do you have a moment?”

“Of course," he answers. "Is something wrong?”

I swallow, glancing at the soldiers nearby. “Can we—perhaps go somewhere a little more private?”

Solas stands immediately, and a swell of relief overwhelms me. He leads me towards the cliffs without question. A single scout perches on the edge, her eyes scanning the moonlit valley below with keener eyes than mine. I know there are others hidden around camp, but I trust Solas’ judgement, too distracted to consider our surroundings. When he stops, I feel confident we’ve escaped listening ears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, his expression serious.

I pull off my glove, wincing at the feeling of glass scraping against my skin. “I’ve—there’s—I think there’s something wrong wi-with my hand.”

His eyebrows pull together, the simple gesture encouraging me to continue.

“Whatever is…allowing me to seal rifts has…affected my magic somehow.”

He stares at me, freezing. I peek at him to find his eyes confused and alarmed. “Wh—how do you mean?” he asks, his voice calm, if strained.

“I-I can demonstrate. I-I’m gonna try to conjure fire,” I add, when I realize he won’t know the difference out of context.

I extend my trembling left hand out, watching its emerald glow. I breathe the word, expecting ice to freeze the railing, as it has before in place of fire. Instead, the air crackles thickly with the spell, alarming me. Solas' hands clasp my shoulders, and he pulls me back just in time for a bolt of lightning to crash into the ground where I was standing.

“Shit!” I say. “Sorry!” I add, shouting and waving to one of the scouts. “Sorry! That was me! Everything’s fine!”

The scout resettles, and I look back at Solas in distress.

He stares at my hand as it glows. “May I?” he asks, holding his own hands out.

I nod, and he takes my hand gently, his fingers warm and gentle against mine. He pushes my sleeve up tenderly, searching my wrist and palm for something unseen. He twists my wrist softly, turning my hand slowly as he examines it. I watch him, my gaze flitting from our hands to his eyes, praying he can come up with an answer. 

“I do not understand,” he murmurs quietly.

“What?” I whisper. 

“I…” He blinks, frowning at my hand as he searches it a moment longer. He seems unhappy with his answer, and I brace myself. “I—cannot explain why the mark should interfere with your magic. It shouldn’t…”

“What do you mean?” I whisper, my chest tightening.

His brow furrows again as he steps closer to me. He brings my hand up, studying it and its glow more closely. He murmurs something softly under his breath, and my hand warms from the quiet incantation. A soft blue glow emanates from his fingers, soothing my skin. I close my eyes at the reprieve, feeling them flood with relief. 

“How does it feel to close the rifts?” he asks. “Do you feel anything?”

“It hurts,” I admit honestly. “It—_aches_, like fire inside my hand, the heat trapped between skin and bone. Sometimes it feels like—like daggers slicing across my wrist, or like the bones themselves are shifting, like...fissures are breaking my hand apart. Sometimes my skin feels as if glass is being dragged against it. The softest brush of my sleeve or glove can be agonizing.” I frown at my own words, but they're are true as I can make them. 

Solas blinks, his eyes rising to mine with no small degree of horror. “I…had no idea, Suledin. Does—it hurt now?”

“It did, but not anymore,” I answer, closing my eyes again. “Whatever you’re doing—” I shake my head, at a loss.

“Does your glove help? I notice you’ve been wearing one.”

“Not with the pain,” I reply. “It just helps me remember not to use it.”

He looks down again, his fingers probing delicately across my wrist, as if searching for a physical cause. When he doesn’t find one, he releases my hand slowly. The warmth of his fingers and his magic disappears, the blue glow fading. At its absence, the quiet ache returns deep in my bones. I swallow, easing my glove back on slowly.

“I will search the Fade for any information as to why this might happen,” he promises, his eyes boring into mine. “And I will search for a way to ease your suffering, as well as a way to restore your magic. Has your mana been affected?”

“A little. I feel it drain much more quickly than before. I can still cast with my right hand and staff.” I don’t both adding the _so far _that bounces around in my thoughts.

“I will find an answer, if one can be found,” Solas tells me, his voice so full of promise that I can’t help but trust him. 

“Thank you,” I murmur seriously. I look up at him. “And—please don’t…tell the others. I don’t want them to…” I trail off uncertainly.

“I understand,” he nods. “I am…sorry this is happening to you. I will try to help you.”

“Thank you,” I say again, swallowing as I look down. “I…I’m gonna get some rest. You don’t have to do anything tonight,” I add. “You must be as exhausted as I am." He doesn't reply to that, appearing deep in thought. "Thank you for speaking with me...Good night, Solas.”

Solas glances over the valley, his brow furrowing in quiet concentration. “Good night, lethallin.”

I look up at him at the familiar and friendly nickname before I turn around. I expect him to follow me back into camp, but when I glance back, I find him still on the cliffs, his eyebrows pulled together as he crosses his arms and stares up at the Breach in the sky.


	10. Of Clan Lavellan

For the rest of our travels, Solas keeps to himself. He rests more than usual in his tent, waking only to travel, and even then he remains deep in thought. Varric and Cassandra are convinced he must have caught something, and they speculate as to what it might be. Relief floods me during those moments. Though I trusted him at his word, it still makes me feel secure that he didn’t discuss the matter with either of them in private.

When we finally make it back to Haven, I’m exhausted and more than a little disheartened. The slow ache in my hand has shifted into a persistent throbbing. I can’t tell if it’s getting worse or if Solas’ magic was such a relief that it hurts twice as much without it.

Varric and Cassandra separate upon our arrival; he heads to the tavern, but she moves back over to where the soldiers train. I don’t know how she does it, but she whips her sword out and continues thrashing dummies like we didn’t just arrive from days of travel.

I walk along the path to the Chantry slowly, hoping to determine whether our efforts in the Hinterlands were successful. When I round the village and take the stairs to the top, I sigh heavily at the crowd gathered before the Chantry. Mages and templars shout and push at each other, tensions rising uncomfortably quickly.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” a templar accuses, his voice raising over all the others.

“Lies!" a mage fights back. "_Your _kind let her die!”

“Shut your mouth, mage!” The templar goes for his sword.

Before he can draw it, Cullen pushes through the crowd, separating the two men roughly.

“Enough!” he orders. The crowd stills, several of the voices quieting. 

“Knight-Commander!” the templar greets.

I widen my eyes in surprise. “That is _not _my title,” Cullen retorts quickly, placing himself between the two groups again. “We are _not _templars any longer. We are _all _part of the Inquisition.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Chancellor Roderick demands, stepping through the crowd.

I actually groan out loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pitted the two groups against each other deliberately.

Cullen offers a similarly displeased reaction. “Back already, Chancellor?” he grumbles. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its _Herald _will restore order as you’ve promised,” he calls, addressing the crowd more than Cullen.

“Of course you are,” Cullen replies disinterestedly, refusing to rise to the bait. “Back to your duties, all of you!” he calls, waving the mages and templars away from each other.

I decide in that moment that I really like Cullen. Roderick’s glare solidifies my response even more. As they say, an enemy of the Grand Chancellor is a friend of mine.

The crowd disperses, but the cutting glances back and forth imply this argument is far from over. Cullen crosses his arms as Roderick starts in on him, pointing at him angrily. 

I consider turning around. I really do, but then Cullen sees me. He seems relieved, perhaps hoping for intervention, and I sigh, moving forward. Can’t leave a commander hanging.

“Herald,” he greets, his voice weary but far more professional than I’d be under the circumstances.

“Commander,” I nod. “How are you?”

“Wonderful,” he replies drily.

“Chancellor,” I add, glancing at the glowering man.

“Blasphemer,” he replies casually.

I snort. “What’s the situation, Cullen?” I ask.

The commander sighs heavily. “Mages and templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death—”

“Which is why we require a _proper _authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick snarls.

“Who, you?” Cullen challenges almost lazily. “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?"

I turn my head to hide my smirk, but I’m sure Cullen sees it anyway.

“The rebel _Inquisition _and it's so-called _Herald of Andraste_?” Roderick shoots back, offering a bitter chuckle. “I think not.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I sigh. “I think we’re about as functional as any new family. Besides, I have asked, on more than one occasion, for the Herald title to be revoked. I _am _an elf, last time I checked.”

Roderick narrows his eyes at me. “That _laudable _humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them.”

Cullen shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest again. “The Inquisition claims only that we must close the Breach or perish.” He sounds drained, like he’s repeated this dozens of times.

“You say that now, Commander,” Roderick replies. “We shall see if the sentiment remains true.”

“Well,” I sigh, “when I inevitably leave Haven again, good luck keeping order. Try not to let anyone riot.”

Cullen smirks. “I’ll do my best.”

“Speak of which, Cullen, could you accompany me to the war room?”

“With pleasure. Chancellor, if you’ll excuse me,” he mutters, turning and striding into the Chantry.

Roderick grimaces. “I will be here, watching and waiting.”

“Consider me warned,” I sigh.

I catch Leliana’s attention and wave her over before heading in after Cullen.

“Remind me why he’s here again?” I muse, catching up to the commander.

“He’s toothless,” Cullen replies. “No point turning him into a martyr by making him leave. He is a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, though. Scout Harding sent a report in before you arrived,” he explains when I glance at him questioningly. “I imagine that’s where you’ll be heading next.”

“A prospect which delights me to no end,” I reply flatly.

Cullen chuckles, pulling the war room door open for me. “Don’t worry. The Chantry’s only weapon is their word.”

“Thank you—hopefully they aren’t as good at witty repertoire as me.”

He chuckles again as he door closes behind us. I realize I forgot to grab Josephine, and I hope that Leliana does that job for me.

“So,” I hum, leaning against the war table. “Commander Cullen. Where are you from?”

Cullen smirks at my tone, resting his hands casually on his sword pommel. “I grew up in Ferelden, near Honnleath. I was transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight. This is the first I’ve returned in almost ten years.”

“Ten years?” I repeat. “Wow. Are you glad to be back?”

“I was not sorry to leave at the time,” he admits, “and I did not expect to return. Now, between the Divine’s murder and the Breach, I’ve arrived to find nothing but chaos.”

“Quite the homecoming,” I grimace. “You were in Ferelden during the Blight?”

He looks away. “I was stationed at Ferelden’s Circle as a templar. I had…nothing to do with the darkspawn. The Circle was having its own troubles at the time. I…remained there…during the events of the Blight.”

I note his discomfort on the subject and move on. “What about family?”

He seems relieved, though he tries not to show it. “I have three sisters.”

“And a Mrs. Commander Cullen?” I tease, raising an expectant eyebrow.

He laughs. “No. No wife or children.”

“_Mr_. Commander Cullen, then?”

“Maker’s breath,” he chuckles. “No. Are you just trying to pass the time?”

I grin at his discomfort. “Why? Am I _bothering _you, Commander?”

He snorts and looks away, shaking his head.

“What about Kirkwall? What was that like”?

Cullen glances at me. “Leliana said you came from the Free Marches. You’ve never been?”

“Ah, no, my clan never really went to cities.”

“No,” he replies, shifting his stance. “Of course not. Forgive me.” He clears his throat softly. “While I was in Kirkwall, Qunari occupied and then attacked the city, the Viscount’s murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the knight-commander went mad. Other than that, it was fine.”

I laugh, surprising us both. “I’m sorry—that was just—a very amusing summation of several terrible things.” I clear my throat. “Is there anything that _didn’t _happen there?”

“We had no trouble from the Crows,” he shrugs.

I laugh again, louder this time, at the unexpected joke. “Did you know Varric while you were there?”

“He was inseparable from the Champion, so I often saw them together. We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition, largely at his insistence. Apparently, I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face, and it’s bad for my health.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to come out and _say _it like that, but…”

Cullen chuckles as the door opens quickly behind me.

“Ah, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, kind of you to join us," I muse. "We’ve declared war on Orlais in your absence.”

“Don’t even joke,” Josephine laughs.

“Before we begin,” Leliana says, passing me two scrolls. “A raven arrived from your clan.”

“Really?” I murmur, fear suddenly striking me. I stand upright, my chest tightening as I accept the scrolls. The first bears the tree branch sigil of Clan Lavellan, the second the personal mark of Keeper Deshanna. I open that one first.

_Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and congratulates it on sealing the Breach that once plagued our sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wished only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us as only potential victims. _

_ It has come to our attention that a member of our clan has been declared leader of your Inquisition. As our clan does not follow the Chant of Light, it seems unlikely that she has been given a legitimate position of authority in what seems to be a religions organization. If she has indeed been granted this position, we would appreciate hearing of it. If we have been misinformed, it would ease our concerns to have her rejoin us as soon as possible. _

_ We await your reply, _

_ Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

I breathe out a sigh of relief. They’re alright. Thank Mythal. I let the letter curl up again and open the second scroll, grinning when I see the familiar scrawl.

_Sul__,_

_ First of all, what’s this about your being a Herald of Andraste? You leave for a couple months and suddenly the world has gone insane. Secondly, and more importantly, remember that little conversation we had before you left about how you wouldn’t run off and join a religion organization? Oh yeah, we didn’t have that, because that’s insane_ .  _I hope you’re doing well. Blink twice if you’re being held captive by a religious cult. But seriously…are you alright? The keeper was worried by your absence, but she gave her usual vague ‘this is all part of the plan’ spiel when we heard you were this Herald person. Have you suddenly converted? Alternatively, did you change your name to Harold, and we just misunderstood the missive? _

_ In all seriousness, I am relieved to hear you are alright, Sul. We were all so worried when we heard what happened to the temple you were sent to alone. I asked Keeper Deshanna to travel to Haven to be there for you, but she has forbidden anyone else from leaving the clan, for fear that we may not return. Please be careful, lethallin, and please write to us when you receive these letters. It will put our minds at ease to know you are safe and unharmed._

_ Dareth shiral, lethallin._

_ Assan_

I turn my head, swiping my fingers quickly under my eyes as I fold the scrolls back up. The others notice and politely look away, finding fascinating locations on the map to study. A lump forms in my throat, and I do my best to clear it.

“What would you like us to do about this?” Leliana wonders. "I imagine they ask after your safety."

I sniff and turn around, eyeing the map. “Would it be possible to send a few supplies as well as two letters from me? I’ll write them personally, so my keeper knows I’m well. I don’t want them to worry.”

“Of course,” Leliana nods, offering a kind smile when I glance at her. “I’ll have my agents approach them with care. Bring me the letters when they’re ready, and I’ll send them off at once.”

“Thank you, Leliana.”

“Now, what about the clerics?” Cassandra wonders.

I wipe my nose quickly, tucking the letters into the back of my belt securely.

“I have been thinking about this at great length since we received Scout Harding’s report,” Josephine murmurs, leaning forward. “Having the Herald address the clerics alone is…not a terrible idea.”

Cullen turns on her. “You can’t be serious,” he scoffs. “Without an honor guard—”

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” Josephine replies hotly. “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion. If we send a group of _soldiers _marching into the capital, it would be viewed as a declaration of war, an unnecessary demonstration of strength. No, she must go alone.”

“And we should just _ignore_ the danger to the Herald?” Leliana returns.

“Let’s ask _her_.”

I make a face. “Well, I must say, I am in favor of _not _being stoned to death. Cassandra? How do you feel about a stoning?”

She ignores me, to her credit.

“And I’m more concerned this won’t actually solve any problems,” I add, returning to Josephine.

Cullen nods. “I agree. It just lends credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.”

“I will go with her,” Cassandra says, looking at Leliana. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

“But _why_?” Leliana argues. “This is nothing but a—”

“What _choice _do we have, Leliana? Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

“Very well,” Leliana sighs. “Be careful, Herald.”

I wince. “Okay, first off, thank you, but I will pay you—all of you, right now—if you never call me that again. Please.”

Cullen smirks. Even Leliana appears amused. Cassandra and Josephine glare and frown at me, respectively.

“We need a way to identify you,” Josephine says.

“Fair but find something else—_anything _else.”

“We leave tomorrow morning,” Cassandra tells me gruffly.

“Excellent,” I sigh. “I love traveling.”

She surprises me with an amused look. “Don’t be late.”

“Would you leave without me?” I wonder.

Her brief humor fades. “Go so we can plan.”

I scoff playfully. “Hear how she talks to me?” I mutter to Cullen.

He smirks at me, and I hold my hands up defensively when Cassandra turns on me.

“Alright, alright, before you have me removed, I get it, I get it,” I murmur. “If anyone needs my expertise in matters of the—alright! I’m going!”

***

After dinner, I sit on the snowy bank near the frozen lake. It’s freezing, of course, but the sky is clear, and I wanted to appreciate it without all the campfires blotting out the view. Countless stars shine through the darkness, and I hug my knees to my chest, trying to remember all the constellations. I quickly realize I only know two, but I make do with finding the other patterns, tracing them lightly. Snow drifts down in gentle waves, coating my hair and clothes. My breath fogs in the air, and I raise my right hand to my face, covering my mouth and nose when the latter begins to sting from the freezing temperature. The moon reflects off the glass of the lake, casting everything in a cool glow. I glance up at the Breach—tamed but not closed. I honestly worry what closing it will take, but there aren't a lot of options. Close it or everyone dies, so...

Footsteps coming up the path alert me to someone’s approach, but they’re light and careful, as if to not disturb me.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He merely sits beside me quietly, folding his hands in his lap. My heart sinks. If it were good news, he would have told me immediately.

“It is a beautiful night,” Solas offers, admiring the stars.

“Very,” I agree softly.

Solas looks down and then over at me. I drop my hand, hugging my legs. I face him, staring at the wolf jawbone necklace he wears, unable to meet his eyes just yet. “I searched the Fade and spoke with many spirits in the hopes of finding an answer. I…cannot fix your magic at present, but I may be able to help with the pain. And…I had a thought.” I look up at him. His eyes are on mine already. “Closing the Breach is, of course, our primary goal, but if we can discover what was used to create it…” He glances away and then at me again. “Perhaps I can understand how to…remove the mark from you.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous?” I ask. “Whatever _it _is?”

He nods. “Any artifact of such power would be. The destruction of the Conclave proved that much.”

“You don’t think it was destroyed in the blast?”

“You survived, did you not?” he smiles softly.

“Well, that’s true, but _I’m _special.”

Solas chuckles quietly, and I find myself reveling in the small victory. It isn't long, however, before he grows serious again. “The artifact that created the Breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.”

I realize how important this seems to be to him, and I straighten a little. “Then we’ll find it,” I promise.

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.”

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” I wonder.

He shakes his head, seemingly automatically. “No, as I said, this age has never—”

“No,” I interrupt softly, “I mean have _you _ever seen anything like it?”

He hesitates.

“In the Fade?”

“I…have seen many things in the Fade, but I cannot recall anything of this magnitude, no.”

“Too bad,” I sigh. “At least then we’d know what to look for.”

“I imagine we will know it on sight. Something of that power would not appear as an ordinary object. At any rate—” He angles his body towards mine, turning to face me. “I mentioned I had something to ease your suffering.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Please.”

He offers his hands, waiting patiently, his eyes boring into mine. I sigh quietly and remove my glove tenderly, placing my hand in both of his. He moves a little closer, his fingers closing around mine gently, as if he’s afraid of hurting me more. He closes his eyes briefly and then breathes out slowly. I feel his magic hum in the air as he focuses his attention on my hand again. He whispers a quiet incantation, the string of words long and complicated under his breath. The words sound vaguely familiar, the rhythm of it singing in the air, but I can’t place them. They're unlike any spell I've ever heard. His fingers grow warm, glowing with a soft, beautiful blue energy.

I close my eyes when I feel the slow pull of the ache ebb. It fades gradually, warmth replacing the wild heat. Solas’ magic traces along my fingers and deeper, lacing across my bones, exchanging pain with a numbness that settles over my wrist, calming and quieting. I release a strangled breath I didn’t realize I was holding as the magic takes effect. It feels so wonderful, so much better, that tears flood my eyes—to my embarrassment. I try to will them back, but they drip down my cheeks in two even, ice-cold rivers. I open my eyes again, watching Solas’ fingers on mine, and a heavy relief washes over me that he's capable of stopping this pain. The faint blue glow around our hands is ethereal, and I realize with startling clarity that I've never seen anything like it.

Solas’ words fade away as he ends the spell, and the blue glow lingers for a moment around our hands before slowly disappearing. He looks up at me, and I realize his eyes suddenly look ancient, ages old with their wisdom. Beyond that, I see a flicker of a deep sadness that I only now understand how to read.

I realize I’ve tightened my fingers along his, and I loosen them. Slowly, he pulls his hands back, his skin tingling against mine as it leaves. I stare down at my hand, pressing my fingertips to my thumb.

“Is that better?” he asks softly.

I close my eyes briefly and nod, smiling. “How did you do that?” I breathe.

“I have learned a great deal in the Fade,” he murmurs.

I smirk and laugh, opening my eyes to look at him again. “You know, that’s going to get old.”

He gives me a questioning look.

“Your impossibly vague answers,” I elaborate. He gives me a small smirk. “One day, you will trust me with the answer,” I add playfully.

He looks down. His smile is unchanged, but there’s a shift in his expression that changes its meaning. I frown softly.

“Thank you,” I say quickly when I realize I didn’t. “So much. This is…” I breathe out. “Wonderful.”

“It will not help permanently,” he warns quietly, “but it should last for a few days at least. When it wears off, come find me, and I will set the spell again.”

Gratitude overwhelms me. So naturally, I have to make a joke. “Any side effects? My hand falling off? Skin turning into scales?”

He chuckles unexpectedly, a smile breaking across his face in an instant. I watch it, my own spreading in response. “No,” he replies softly. “The spell is, to put it simply, interrupting the connection with your nerves to block that specific pain. You will still feel heat and cold and the pinch if you cut your finger, but the ache of…whatever magic is at hand is, temporarily, blocked.” 

“Thank you,” I repeat, my voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t have to find this. I appreciate your eff…efforts…” I frown. “That…sounded way less idiotic in my head.”

He offers another small chuckle. He looks at me, his eyes capturing mine. I blink slowly, aware of how fast my heart has begun to beat. Some irrational part of me fears he can hear it, but I know, logically, that he can’t. He smiles softly again and then rises slowly. He offers his hand, looking down at me almost with amusement.

“I imagine we should get some rest,” he murmurs. “We have a journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

I accept his hand, and he pulls me up gently. “Cassandra told you about that, then?”

“She is rather proactive.”

I laugh, the sound bursting out of me, surprising me. “That is the perfect word for her. Not one to sit around.”

Solas returns my laugh softly, and I listen to it with an idiotic smile. As we walk, I realize his hand is still wrapped around mine. He notices at the same time.

“I apologize,” he murmurs, loosening his fingers.

I tighten my grip, keeping his hand in mine. “For warmth, of course,” I add when he glances at me, earning his smirk. “Wouldn’t want to get frostbite so close to Haven. _That _would be embarrassing.”

Solas chuckles again quietly, and something about the way he does it makes me think he doesn’t do it very often. “You are…very different from what I expected," he says, the words sounding like an admission.

“What did you expect?” I wonder.

He just shakes his head silently, looking down.

We reach the gates of Haven, and I glance at Solas. “Guess this is where we embrace the possibility of frostbite,” I sigh.

Solas’ eyes find mine, his expression disarmingly tender. “Good night, lethallin.”

“Good night…hahren,” I tease with a grin.

He laughs at my formal title in comparison with his familiar one, pulling the gate open. I step through it, smiling at him as he closes it again. I pull my glove back on slowly, walking to my cabin near the entrance. I glance back as I step inside, smiling at Solas’ back as he walks around a corner and disappears.


	11. Army of the Faithful

“All I’m saying, Snow, is you’re _Dalish_,” Varric complains. “You’re _used _to walking long distances.”

“Varric!” I scoff, swatting his shoulder.

“Me,” he continues, “I’m a dwarf. We dwarves, if we’re not fighters, live sedentary lives. I’m a _businessman_. I thought my days of trekking all across Thedas were behind me.”

“You sound like an eighty-year-old man.”

“I _feel _like an eighty-year-old man today, Snow.”

“Perhaps you should have been sleeping and not drinking last night,” Cassandra offers from ahead.

I laugh, because I didn’t think she was listening. “She has a point,” I say defensively when Varric elbows me.

“Seeker, I’m sure you’ve never been offered a drink in your life, but when you are, you don’t just say no. That’s rude, in tavern law.”

“I never took you for a drunk,” she replies tersely.

“I’m a dwarf, Seeker. It’s genetic.”

I snort. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, the chest hair is natural.”

“Thank you. It was bothering me.”

Varric smirks. “What’s up, Snow?”

I sigh, kicking a rock out of the road. “Really sticking with that one, huh?”

“It’s the most fitting one I’ve come across. You got any better suggestions? Does _anybody_?”

“You know, I’m not a snowflake,” I complain. “Look at my skin,” I add, shoving my arm at him.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re dark, but your _hair_ is too white to be ignored. Hence, Snow. Plus, your vallaslin ink is white, so—” He waves a hand. “—Snow, what was it you wanted to know?”

“I’ve read your _Tale of the Champion_,” I muse, enjoying his quiet scoff. “I was wondering about a few things.”

“That’s a pretty common reaction,” he admits. “Which parts were doubtful? Was it the dragon lady? Because that really happened, I swear.”

I laugh louder than I mean to, the sound echoing through the trees. “Okay…hm…never really thought I’d get the chance to talk to _the _Varric Tethras—”

“Also a common reaction.”

I grin lopsidedly at him. “What happened to the mage who destroyed the Chantry? You never said.”

“Ah,” he nods, growing serious. “I didn’t want to put Hawke out.”

“Why? What happened?”

“She…killed him.”

“Oh,” I say, blinking.

“It was a—hard decision for her. They were friends, but…You have to understand, it was a betrayal to her, to everything she’d tried to prevent. She’d risked life and limb to help with the mage conflict, and him doing that behind her back, after everything she did to help him…starting such a violet war in the streets…” Varric shakes his head, looking away. 

“I’m—sorry that happened to her. You wrote her so…lighthearted.”

“She’s a lighthearted woman. I didn’t want to include that in the book, because it was…” He sighs. “I just didn’t want to hurt her,” he mumbles. “She’s been through enough.”

I glance down at him, chewing my cheek.

“Anything else?” he asks after a moment. “Surely that’s not your only question.”

“Well…the fight between Hawke and the Arishok.”

“Oh boy.”

“There’s no way she really could have killed him, right? It would have started a war with the Qunari.”

Varric nods in agreement. “I was told later that the Qunari disavowed his actions. Apparently the Arishok didn’t get permission before he attacked Kirkwall, and the _Qun_ didn’t want another Exalted March. When they finally sent a ship to haul the wrecked dreadnought away, they just said, ‘we will never speak of this again.’”

“Seriously?” I laugh, mostly at his deep-voiced impersonation.

“Absolutely. Have you ever met a Qunari? They’re so broody and serious. As far as I can tell, that’s the Qun’s version of an apology.”

“What happened to the others? Fenris, Aveline, Merrill, and Isabela?”

“Merrill decided to look after the elves left homeless by the fighting. She’s done a pretty good job of keeping them away from the mages and templars so far. I guess she had plenty of practice avoiding stupid human battles with her old Dalish clan. Fenris has kept himself pretty busy. Last I heard, he and Hawke were hunting down the Tevinter slavers who came south to prey on the refugees. I’m not sure exactly where they are at the moment. You can usually follow the trail of corpses, though.”

“Then they’re still together?”

“Oh yeah. Inseparable. It's not as cute as it sounds." I snort, rolling my eyes at him. "Seriously, I've never seen anyone brood more. It's like it's his profession or something. As for the others...Isabela went back to the Raiders. She’s calling herself an admiral now. I don’t know if she’s actually in charge or just has a really big hat. Might actually be the same thing, honestly.” I laugh again. “Sebastian—not surprised you forgot about him—he went back to Starkhaven,” he adds with a long sigh. “I’m sure he’s boring all sorts of people there.”

I laugh loudly. “_Wow_, you _really_ don’t like him.”

Varric snorts. “Sanctimonious braggart,” he mumbles. “Aveline’s still guard-captain. I’m pretty sure Kirkwall would fall into the sea if she quit her job. Is that—did I get everyone?”

“What about Hawke's sister?”

“Oh,” Varric says, looking down. “She, uh…she died.”

“What?” I murmur, shocked.

“I didn’t put that in the book, either…Hawke was…” He shakes his head. “It was when we went into the Deep Roads with my bastard brother…She, uh…” He sighs heavily. “She got the Blight.”

“Mythal,” I breathe. “That’s terrible…”

“Yeah…”

I shake my head. “Everything she’s been through…How can she still be so…?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, shaking his head again as he watches the ground. “I honestly don’t. People have broken from a whole lot less.” Silence follows his words for a long moment before he clears his throat. “Anyway, did you want to know anything else?”

I struggle to think of something, certain he wants to move on. “Are you originally from the Free Marches?”

“Yep. Born and raised in Kirkwall. And despite whatever you’ve heard, no, Kirkwall’s not that bad.”

“Civil war and Qunari invasion aside.”

He allows a wry smile. “Yes, civil war and Qunari invasion aside.”

“And you said you were a merchant?”

“A businessman,” he corrects softly. “My family has a seat in the Dwarven Merchants Guild.”

“What’s the difference?”

“To oversimplify it, merchants buy and sell goods; businessmen buy and sell stores.”

“Ahh.”

“In my spare time, I manage a spy network and occasionally, I write books.”

“Wait, you manage a spy network? Why aren’t you our spymaster?”

“To be honest with you, Leliana’s just a better spymaster,” he says with a shrug. “The truly great ones can keep their distance. They don’t get attached to their people. Me? I always wind up babysitting my informants and worrying about their families. Trust me, we’re in better hands with her.”

“What kind of books do you write?”

He laughs.

“Did you like that segue?”

“It was very smooth. I’ll have to remember it for my next book,” he chuckles. “I’ve tried my hand at a few genres. My crime serials are my most popular. _Hard in Hightown_. Guards breaking rules to get things done. _The Tale of the Champion _is the most famous thing I’ve written. Or…_infamous, _maybe.” I chuckle at that. “I started a romance serial once. _Swords & Shields_. But to be honest, I don’t have a knack for romances. Most of my stories end in tragedy. Probably says something unfortunate about me personally.”

“Hmm,” I muse, grinning at him. “I think I’ll have to read these books of yours.”

“Andraste’s ass, don’t bother,” he laughs. “I can pretty much summarize all their plots in one sentence. The hero—”

“Hold,” Cassandra suddenly says, stopping. She turns her head to the side, listening closely. Varric and I catch up quietly. “This way!” she exclaims, loping off the road and into the trees.

“And here I thought we were just going to have a peaceful journey,” Varric sighs, pulling his crossbow off his back.

I grip my staff and follow Cassandra down the bank. I can hear it as we get closer. Moreover, I can feel it. Magic pulls at my hand, nipping at and under my skin, tingling and burning. I gasp, feeling the spell Solas so carefully placed overpowered in an instant. I suppose it was too much to hope it would work in the presence of a rift.

We break through the trees to a clearing off the main road. A child and his mother are screaming as they press against a tree, desperate to escape the demons.

“Herald!” Cassandra shouts, rushing over to them. “Seal it! We will cover you!”

I tear my glove off, charging close enough to connect with the rift. I plant my feet and thrust my left hand out, ignoring the demons around me—perhaps foolishly. One darts across the field as soon as my hand connects to the tear in the Veil, but I can’t break away now. I raise my staff to shield myself, but before I can, the demon crashes against a glimmering wall. 

I glance behind me to find Solas holding the barrier up.

“Thanks!” I gasp, turning back to the rift.

I grit my teeth, hearing the others fight. Solas manages to maintain the barrier, but I hear the soft sound of his magic as he casts other spells.

“Quickly, Herald! More are coming through!” Cassandra shouts.

“I’m trying!”

“_Now_, Herald!”

Tears flood my eyes, and I step forward, feeling the magic rip across my wrist. For a moment, I fear I must be doing it wrong, because it hurts so much more than before. I grunt through my teeth, clenching my fist as it burns and aches. The magical energy around me crackles and flares in the air like lava, spewing out ferociously, embers disappearing before they hit the ground. I tighten my fist again, gripping my staff fiercely in my other hand. The rift groans in protest, its rejection to me whining out shrilly as its volume increases higher and higher until it finally breaks off. A brief cry escapes me before I can stop it, but the sounds of the battle fortunately cover it. The rift yanks me forward several feet as it closes, and then I'm free. I bring my hand to my chest, cradling it as I gasp for air. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I turn away from the others, groaning.

Solas appears beside me, wordlessly taking my hand. His fingers are gentle against mine as he searches my eyes. I look away, feeling weak from my reaction to the pain. Our hands glow a soft blue, his words low and soft. I drop my staff, moving my hand across my cheeks, hoping my tears have gone unnoticed. 

“Are you injured?” Cassandra calls, and I realize the fighting is over.

“Just a little,” I half-lie. “It’s alright now. Get them to safety,” I add, nodding at the mother and child.

“Thank you!” the woman cries. “Thank you so much! You saved us!”

I smile with difficulty and wave at her. Varric and Cassandra escort the family away, and I sag when the pain begins to ebb gradually.

“Thank you, Solas,” I gasp, gripping his wrist with my right hand before I realize it.

He nods once, continuing the incantation without hesitation. His words move more swiftly than last night, and before long, my hand is numbed again.

I breathe out a sigh of relief, and Solas releases me. I pull my glove back on securely, relieved. He gives me a solemn look, but it somehow looks more like an apology than sympathy or pity.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Thank you…so much. I’m sorry you had to do it again so soon.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replies quietly. "It's...no trouble. Do not hesitate to come to me if you are in pain."

“Well done,” Cassandra says, breathless as she and Varric jog back to us. “You are getting very good at that.”

“Why thank you,” I murmur, trying to sound lighthearted. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes,” she replies, leading us back to the road.

Cassandra turns to talk to Varric—or argue with him, I’m not sure. Solas walks beside me quietly. I keep my left hand held against my stomach, angling it close to me as I watch the road beneath Cassandra’s feet, lost in thought.

***

“They certainly spared no expense,” I mumble, looking up and around. Gold adorns the edges of the bridge to the lavish city of Val Royeaux. Twin gates stand open ahead of us, revealing an ornately decorated entrance. The marble-engraved stone under my feet must have cost more sovereigns than my clan saw in a year. Or maybe a decade.

“The sparkling capital of Orlais,” Varric replies, equally sardonic.

“Do you think they have enough statues?” I wonder, looking up at the dozens lining the bridge, each with their own plaque identifying their significance. They raise up taller than the aravels back home, their massive stone figures dwarfing us as we pass under them. “I think there should be more statues here.”

Varric chuckles, and Cassandra shoots us a deadly warning glance. “The city still mourns.”

I nod. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, Seeker,” Varric says at the same time. “Best behavior, kids.”

I snicker, and Cassandra shakes her head, her shoulders tense as we draw nearer to the chiming bells of the Chantry. They echo louder with each step, bouncing off the smooth stone of the buildings we pass. I look up at the walls of the alley, marveling a little at the architecture and stonework. Even with all my sarcasm and dismissal, I can't deny the masterful hands that built this place. It must have taken decades. We pass by a man and woman, both _dramatically _adorned in a variety of silks and ribbons and starkly contrasting colors that make my eyes hurt. When they see us, the woman gasps very audibly and scurries closer to her male companion.

“Hm,” Varric muses, “just a guess, Seeker, but I _think _they all know who we are.”

Cassandra sighs heavily. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric.”

“Just call it like I see it,” he says modestly, earning a chuckle from me and an intense eye roll from Cassandra.

A woman in an Inquisition scout uniform jogs up to us from what appears to be a marketplace, stopping us in our path. Her eyes find mine, and she drops to one knee. “My lady Herald!” she gasps in awe, bowing her head at me. I step back, smiling politely as I give Varric an eyes-screaming look. He grins in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people,” Cassandra says when I fail to respond. “What have you found?”

“The Chantry mothers await you in the market, but so do a great many templars.”

“Wonderful,” I groan. “Just two elven apostates strolling through; nothing to see here, people.”

“You are the Herald of Andraste. You will not be harmed,” Cassandra promises.

“Pretty sure that’s exactly the problem, but I appreciate the sentiment,” I sigh.

The agent looks between us. “People seem to think the templars will protect them from…from the Inquisition,” she adds regrettably. “They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you.”

“Meet, aka capture,” I mutter.

“Herald,” Cassandra warns.

“Sorry.”

“Only one thing to do then,” she says boldly, marching forward.

I stare after her and then jog to catch up, grabbing her arm and pulling her to another stop. “You see, Cassandra, you-you say that, but i-it isn’t _your _freedom _or _your head they’re after. Can—come on, can we maybe just think about this for a second?”

“There is nothing to think about. We did not walk all the way here to turn around at the gates empty-handed.”

“This is _obviously _a setup. You and Cullen keep saying, ‘oh, all they’ve got is words,’ but no, no—because, you see, they’ve got templars. And templars—they-they _nullify _and they _capture _and they _imprison_, so—”

“You will not be captured or nullified.”

“You _say _that, but—”

“I will not allow it.”

“Okay, but—”

“Herald, do you trust me?”

I sigh and look up at her as she gazes at me levelly. I see the raw determination in her eyes, her refusal to surrender, despite the odds stacked against her. “Yes,” I realize with a heavy, irritable sigh. “Fen’Harel take me…Yes…damn it. I do.”

Cassandra looks pleased. “Then let us be on our way. Agent, return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are…delayed.”

I gape at her.

“As you say, my lady,” the agent replies, moving back down the bridge.

“_Why _would you _say _it like that?” I groan.

“Come. It is not fair.”

“Wait, wait,” I say quickly, pulling her back a second time. I turn to Solas. “You don’t have to come in.”

He looks at me evenly, his expression grateful but determined. “I’m alright.”

“Really,” I say. “This is…_I’m _scared of this nonsense. You don’t have to come in. In fact, I insist you wait here.”

“Thank you, Suledin,” he murmurs, “but I will be fine.”

“Are you certain?”

He gives me an almost amused look, but his eyes are soft. “Yes, though I do appreciate the thought.”

I sigh, nodding. “Alright. Cassandra?”

“This way,” she says, marching forward again.

“Varric,” I mutter, “when you write about my hilarious death here in a few moments, can you leave out the part about me screaming all those curse words?”

Varric grins, patting my back. “Sure thing, Snow.”

“Thanks.”

We enter the marketplace, and I look up and around, unable to not be impressed with the first official city I’ve entered. Blue walls raise high above us, regal and elegant. Magnificent arches loop between buildings and into shops where dozens of people, ornately clad themselves, pick through various items and discuss with shopkeepers. Above, us, thick, red spires of cloth adorn the walls of the circular market, twirling elegantly across the open roof to tie around the guard tower in the center. I initially wonder at their purpose, apart from purely aesthetic, until I realize that they block out large patches of the sun, keeping the market cool and comfortable. 

I gape as I look around, walking into Varric. He chuckles, righting me as I continue to unabashedly ogle.

Which is about the time I hear the grumbling, unhappy crowd.

I drop my eyes to it and then sigh. Hundreds of people have gathered here, angrily thrashing their hands in the air either in argument or agreement to whatever was just said—I can't tell which. My eyes widen at their number, shocked at so many people all talking at once. How does anyone manage to think around here? Or get out a single sentence before a dozen more cut them off?

Erected above them at the front of the crowd is a stage upon which several mothers stand. Their sunburst robes of white and red cloth brush against the wooden platform, their cowls hiding all but their faces. They implore the crowd, nodding in unison to something we missed. One of the mothers raises her hand, trying to silence the crowd. My heart begins to hammer in my chest when I realize this has all the makings of a potential riot if we're not careful.

As usual, Cassandra is less impressed. She boldly leads us straight to it, pushing through the crowd to reach the front. I follow on her heels, resisting the childish urge to grip her arm for support.

“Good people of Val Royeaux,” the forefront mother calls when she sees our approach. “Hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart—silenced by treachery!”

“Well, I don’t like where _this _is going,” I mutter.

“You wonder what will become of her murderer?” the mother continues, glaring down at me.

“Here it comes,” I sigh.

“Well, wonder _no more_!” She throws a hand at me, and I roll my eyes without meaning to. “Behold the so-called ‘Herald of Andraste!’ Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. _We _say, this is a _false prophet_! The Maker would send no _elf _in our hour of need!”

Rage bursts through me like a lit match at the disdainful way she says the word, like it's a curse. It takes all my willpower, but I hold my tongue, waiting a second to speak before I react emotionally and not logically. I force myself to remember our purpose here, difficult as it is. “You say _I _am the enemy,” I call loudly, allowing myself to be heard throughout the crowd. “The Breach in the sky is our _true _enemy! We must unite to stop it, or else we _all _will perish!”

“It’s true!” Cassandra says, standing beside me. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

Movement catches my eye to the right, and I glance over to see a group of templars march up the stairs to the stage. There are dozens of them. Their shields rest on their backs, and my eyes catch on the blazing sword of the Order, the emblem etched into their armor like a threat or a promise. My heart hammers, and I itch to back up, but I remain where I stand.

“It is already too late!” the mother cries in response to Cassandra, gesturing to the guards at her side. “The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this _Inquisition_, and the people will be safe once more!”

Templars march ahead of the mothers, dominating the stage. One of them pulls his hand back and slaps the leading mother harshly across the face, knocking her out of the way. She falls to her knees in a heap, crying as she holds her cheek. Her sisters fall beside her, wrapping their arms around her shoulders as they stare at the templars in shock. My anger finds a new target, rage boiling my blood. The crowd gasps, and I glare at the so-called faith militant.

“How dare you?” I demand heatedly.

The man in charge merely glances at me before moving off the other end of the stage, apparently disinterested in anything but abuse.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra calls, moving through the crowd with him. I follow her angrily. “It’s imperative that we speak with—”

“You will not address me,” the man says coldly, not even looking at her.

“Lord Seeker?” she replies, shocked.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed! The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. _You _are the ones who have failed. You who’d unleash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_.”

I clench my jaw in the following silence, my anger bursting from me unchecked. "If you’re not here to help, then you just came to make _speeches _and to abuse Chantry mothers?”

“I came to see what frightens those old women so much and to _laugh_.”

A young templar steps forward, his eyes tight with conflict. “But…Lord Seeker…what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if—”

The Lord Seeker silences him with a look. A cleric-looking man, the same who hit the mother, approaches the templar with his own cold gaze. “You are called to a higher purpose. Do not question.”

“_I _will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void,” the Lord Seeker pronounces. “We _deserve_ recognition—independence! You have shown me nothing, and the Inquisition, less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is _unworthy _of our protection. We march!”

I watch them turn on their heels and file out of the marketplace in two parallel lines. The crowd behind me gasps in dismay, some openly weeping at the turn of events. Others grumble to each other in shock.

“Charming fellow, isn’t it?” Varric mutters.

“We should invite the lot of them over for tea,” I agree, my tone too bitter to be sarcastic.

Cassandra looks lost. “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” 

“Take you know him?” I mumble. 

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago, after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is...very bizarre,” she says, staring after the templars. Her eyes look confused, but I see an undeniable glint of disappointment.

“Well," I sigh, “guess we won’t count on the templars' support after all. Such a shame.”

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be those in the Order who see what he’s become. Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others.”

I glance back at the platform to see the mother still on the ground. Her expression is shocked as tears roll down her cheeks. One of those cheeks flames red, a thick brand arcing across her skin from the ring the man must have been wearing. Another roll of anger bursts through me, and I approach her slowly as the crowd disperses. “Are you alright?” I ask quietly.

“This victory must please you greatly,” she mutters.

“Quite the contrary,” I reply. “For what little it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

She looks up at me. “Just…tell me one thing. Do you…_truly _believe you are the Maker’s chosen?”

“No,” I answer. “I’ve never claimed to be. I seek only to close the Breach.”

“That is…more comforting than you might imagine,” she replies.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, but…if your goals are truly so honorable…” The mother glances at me, her eyes solemn and lost. “Then…I pray for your success. Clearly, we cannot rely on our templars to protect us any longer. If the Inquisition is truly better, then…I pray for you and...wish you luck. I suspect you will need it.”


	12. Friends of Red Jenny

I lead the way back through the Orlesian market, eager to be free from the city. I'm relieved that the templars decided I was _unworthy _of pursuing, but I still don’t fancy hanging around anymore.

“So, how’s city life treated you so far?” Varric muses as we walk, the sarcasm thick in his tone.

I smirk. “I've come to the realization that I did _not_, in fact, miss anything after all, so that’s good.”

“Ah, we’ll have to get you to Kirkwall sometime. _That’s _a proper city. Just stay out of Darktown. And keep an eye on your coin purse in Hightown. And don’t talk to anyone under twenty or over forty in Lowtown.”

“Ringing endorsement,” I muse. "They should hire your for guided tours."

“I’m good like that.”

Cassandra suddenly grabs my arm and wrenches me back several steps, her gauntleted fingers hard enough on my skin to bruise. I think she’s mad at me until I hear and see a thin arrow plunge into a flower bed a foot from where I was standing.

“How did you _see _that?” I gape at her, disregarding the potential danger. “You’re like a _hawk_. Also, thank you. Also, were they trying to kill me? Because they…very much missed.”

“There’s a letter attached to it,” Cassandra mutters, eyeing the balconies above.

“Hm.” I reach forward, and Cassandra stops me again.

“It could be a trap," she warns, her other hand resting on her sword pommel. 

“If they wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t have missed.”

"That or they're _terrible _assassins," Varric offers lazily. 

"Guess we know the Crows aren't involved," I chuckle darkly, gesturing to him. 

Cassandra grimaces at our cavalier attitudes but releases my arm. I bend down to take the letter.

“What does it say?” she asks before I’ve even unrolled it.

I smirk at her and hold it up. “Okay, uh…It says, ‘People say you’re special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone. There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wanted to hurt you.’ Lovely. ‘Have a search for the red things in the market, the docks, and ‘round the café, and maybe you’ll meet him first. Bring swords.’ Signed, ‘Friends of Red Jenny.’ Well…that’s exciting. I also feel it bears mentioning that the writer doodled all over the page, and this is…” I squint, turning the page left and right. “I _think _a…loose drawing of the market? Not sure why there’s a...rather well-endowed dragon sitting in the center, but…yeah, pretty sure this is the market.”

“If there _is _someone after us, we should find him,” Cassandra says.

“Friends of Red Jenny,” Varric repeats thoughtfully.

“Does that mean something to you?” I wonder, folding the letter back up and pocketing it. 

“Sure," he nods. "They’re a diverse group. They can be anything you need them to be. Mostly, they’re unseen, but they do get things done—if in an unorthodox…sometimes disorganized way. They're no spy network, but, in my experience, their information is pretty solid. Might be worth checking out.”

“We have no time for their machinations,” Solas disagrees lightly. “We must return to Haven at once and determine our next course of action.”

I sigh heavily in agreement. “We _are _short on time. Are they really that useful?” I wonder, directing the question at Varric.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t turn my nose up at them.”

I consider briefly and then sigh again. “Alright. Maybe we should...see where this goes, while we're here. Should we split up to find these...red things?”

“No,” Cassandra answers immediately.

“It would go faster if—”

“No.”

“Alrighty then. Guess we’re Team Inquisition on this one. To the…docks.”

It all takes a great deal more time than I had hoped. At the docks, we find something hidden rather skillfully hidden behind a set of crates, unnoticeable if you’re not looking for it—and even then, it was pretty hard to find. The red handkerchief is tied securely around a key with a small, hastily written message scrawled in a different handwriting than the arrow's note: _Key lifted from drunk swearing about Herald. Don’t know what door. I’m out, my debt is paid. _

After that inexplicable hint, we move on to the balcony overlooking the market. I spend entirely too much time searching the much too obvious red spires until Varric spots a hidden red sock near a plant box by a window. Stuffed inside is an incomplete document that reads, “…_and we are to obey well. We meet at three bells to discuss how best to serve the new way._” Below that is another note written in a third messy handwriting: _Herald go time. Praise Adrast. _

We visit three cafés, annoying the patrons and staff alike as we search through rows of tables and leave without even the guise of ordering drinks. In the last one we check, we find another red handkerchief with a stable report stuffed into it. Parts of it are lined in red, marking them significant: _Thank you Friends for helping good Lady Keris. Saw those who asked about Herald enter third passage. Could not stay to see them exit. _

“Alright,” I mutter, sitting heavily on a bench. “Can _anyone _make sense of this? Spymaster Tethras?”

He smirks. “Yeah, let me see the notes. This one stuck out to me, the one that says _Praise Adrast_. I thought they’d just misspelled Andraste at first, but here…let me see your map.” I search in my satchel for it and then bring it out, laying it flat beside me on the bench. “Here,” he continues, pointing to a part of the map in the neighborhood district of Val Royeaux. “There’s a chateau inside the city—Adrast’s chateau.”

I make a pleased face at Varric. “Ooh, okay. This is fun!”

He smirks at me crookedly. “So, three bells means three in the morning, obviously, and this must be the key to get you inside.”

“Ooh, Spymaster. Very impressive. You're being promoted.”

Cassandra sighs and rolls her eyes.

“So…” I add, glancing up at her and Solas awkwardly. “Guess we’re…staying the night?” I grin widely, nudging the Seeker, who appears less than pleased. “It’ll the _fun_. Eh? Ehh? _Ehh_?”

“Herald,” she sighs, exasperated.

“Besides, it's _late_-ish. We don't want to start our travel back at _night_, right? That would just be...miserable. Did anyone happen to see an inn?” I wonder. “I was not, admittedly, paying that much attention.”

“There’s one back in the main marketplace,” Varric answers, rolling my map back up for me.

“That’s convenient. And…some place to eat?”

He chuckles. “Also in the marketplace.”

“Kind of them.”

“This may be a waste of time,” Cassandra says, her tone still exasperated.

“Well, it’s late now anyway,” I point out again. “We get on the road, we’ll only be walking a mile or so before we have to set camp _anyway_, so we might as well sleep here and get an early start in the morning, right?”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Then let us be off.”

I salute her and stand, following her back to the marketplace. As we arrive, a man in maroon-colored robes flags me down, walking over briskly. I think nothing of it, until Cassandra pulls me behind her roughly, her hand readied on her sword.

“You are the Herald of Andraste, are you not?” the man asks, glancing around Cassandra at me. "I would like just a brief moment of your time. I mean you no harm," he adds, glancing at Cassandra again.

“What do you want?” she replies suspiciously.

“I have an invitation for the Herald. That is all.” He deposits it into Cassandra’s hand, bows respectfully, and then leaves.

Cassandra watches him go and then glances at the parchment before handing it over. “What is it this time?”

I open the elaborate envelope, pulling it free from an elegant and shining bow. “It’s from someone named First Enchanter Vivienne…I’m ‘cordially invited to attend’ her ‘salon held at the chateau of Duke Bastien de Ghislain.’ Signed, ‘Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, Enchanter to the Imperial Court.’” I sigh heavily and make a face at Cassandra.

“What time is the invitation?”

“Seven bells,” I say grandly, waving my hand lavishly.

“Date?”

“It doesn’t say. Tonight, probably…right?”

Cassandra offers a heavy sigh. “This is getting ridiculous…though I suppose we cannot turn away help. No matter how _inconvenient _they are making it.”

“That’s the spirit, Seeker,” Varric mumbles.

I sigh again. “Alright…Can we eat first? I could starve to death. I don’t know. It feels like a possibility.”

“Yes,” Varric agrees.

“Fine,” Cassandra grumbles.

“We’ll eat, get some rooms, I’ll go to her fancy _salon_—whatever that is—and then we’ll go meet these _Friends of Red Jenny_—whatever _that _is. Sound good?”

“I suppose, Herald.”

“Excellent. Really liking Val Royeaux so far. This is…so much fun.”

***

Cassandra walks with me to the gates of the most ornately decorated place I’ve ever seen. I was ready to pass right by it, certain it couldn’t be someone’s _salon_, until Cassandra stopped me. I stare at the massive structure with no small measure of distaste. 

"_This _is her salon?" I gape. "All this for just one woman? This could have housed a clan eight times the size of mine and _still _have had room for a few halla and an aravel."

Cassandra sighs. "Must you exaggerate so?"

"The disturbing thing is that I wasn't even exaggerating that much!"

She offers another sigh. "Go on. Get this over with so we can be done with this ridiculous city."

“You _could _go in with me,” I prod, not for the first time.

“The invitation was for you and you alone.”

“What if it’s an assassination party? I think you should come.”

“Herald,” she sighs. “Just meet this de Fer woman and let’s be done with this. We have many things to do of more import than attending her party.”

“Agreed. Let’s just go back to the inn, shall we? We came, we saw; sounds like a successful evening to me, one for the history books.”

“Herald.” Her tone is warning, and I turn around, huffing.

“Fine,” I complain. “I’ll go to her stupid party with her stupid fancy guests. If you hear screaming, it's probably me getting mauled by Orlesian finery.”

I walk forward as Cassandra offers an impressive eye roll, adjusting my Dalish robes as I fidget. Guards—unarmed guards, for some reason—open the gates and then the doors of the salon for me with lavish bows. As soon as I step inside, a man with a long scroll looks up at me, his eyes sparkling behind a an ebony mask.

“Mistress Suledin Lavellan, Herald of Andraste.”

I wince as that draws several pairs of curious eyes, all hidden behind gold or silver masks. Of course I knew Orlesians had a proclivity for such attire, but it still unnerves me to be in a room whose occupants are disguised. I glance around uncertainly, walking into the party as confidently and casually as I can. Internally, I’m panicking.

A man in a full gold mask approaches me, bowing deeply. His eyes gleam excitedly, but the rest of his expression is hidden. A woman joins him, offering an elegant curtsy, her face also protected by a lavish mask the same style and color as her counterpart. 

“A pleasure, ser. Stanton Bouchard, at your service. My wife, Adette,” he greets warmly. “We so rarely have a chance to meet anyone new. It is always the same crowds at these parties.” 

“Mm, my thoughts exactly,” I sigh theatrically.

The woman, Adette, chuckles. “Oh, you are a _treat_.”

“So, you must be a guest of Madame de Fer,” Stanton surmises. “Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“Are you here on business?” Adette asks. “I have heard the most _curious _tales of you. I cannot imagine half of them are true.”

“Oh, no, it’s all true,” I nod. “Every last word.”

Adette gives an delighted squeal. “Oh, better and better! The Inquisition should attend more of these parties.”

“The _Inquisition_,” someone scoffs loudly. I glance up to see an ornately decorated man descend the large flight of stairs hugging the side of the room. “What a load of pig shit!” He comes to a stop before me, the strong scent of wine suffocating. His mask fails to hide the long once-over he gives me. “Washed-up sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously.”

“I mean, seriously, they want us to believe someone’s _hand glows_?” I add, laughing falsely. Stanton chuckles beside me.

If the second man heard me, he ignores me. “Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

“You got me,” I reply. 

His eyes grow angry behind his mask when he realizes he’ll have to have this fight with himself. And he does. “All this shit about restoring order…Ha! Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army!”

“Armies _do _help,” I muse, much to the delight of Stanton and Adette beside me.

“We know what your _Inquisition _truly is.”

“A power-grab, I know.”

I can't be sure, but I think the man is scowling at me behind his mask. “If you were a woman of _honor_, you’d step outside and answer the charges!” he growls.

I laugh. “This guy’s great,” I murmur, talking to the others.

The man growls again and pushes a table over. Dozens of platters of decadent food topple noisily to the ground. Adette shrieks and backs away as glasses of rich champagne shatter on the marble underfoot. A thin, carefully constructed ice sculpture in the center of the table crashes to the floor; the work of such a skilled sculptor is defaced as it breaks into large chunks of ice that race across the marble in all directions. The party's crowd gasps and falls silent, all eyes falling on us. Even the band in the corner jolts to an unpleasant stop, the strings on their instruments scratching when they jerk in surprise.

“Well now that was just rude,” I mutter.

The man reaches back for the long dagger fixed to his back. Before he can grip it, he freezes in place, his eyes widening in panic.

“My dear Marquis,” a low, honeyed voice scolds. I glance up to see its enchantingly dressed owner descend the stairs gracefully. “How unkind of you to use such language in my house…to _my _guests.” She tsks him softly. “You know such rudeness is…intolerable. And what a mess you’ve made.” She strides past the other staring guests, her step youthful and careless, despite the age I see fixed to the few lines around the corners of her mouth. Half her face is hidden behind her mask, but chocolate-colored eyes peer almost disinterestedly over the scene, a clear sign of a woman in complete control. 

“M-Madame Vivienne,” the man gasps through a clenched jaw, his bravado gone in an instant. “I humbly beg your pardon!”

“You should,” Vivienne nods in approval. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” She lifts a hand to the man’s chin, tsking again. Her fingers trail down his jaw, but she somehow makes the otherwise affectionate gesture appear intimidating. She turns to me, her eyes appraising me. “My lady, _you’re _the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

“Hang him!” I whisper-scream, curling my hand into a fist dramatically before I drop it. “No, I’m just kidding. I really don’t care.”

Vivienne allows a wry smile under her mask, turning to the frozen man once more. “Poor marquis, issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Ferelden dog lord.” She waves her hand lazily, freeing the man. He coughs and bends over, gripping his chest as his breath fogs in the air. “And all dressed up in your Aunt Solange’s doublet. Didn’t she give you that to wear to the Grand Tourney? To think, all the brave chevaliers who will be competing left for Markham this morning…and you’re still here.” Oh snap. Somebody get this man some canavaris. “Were you hoping to sate your damaged pride by defeating the Herald of Andraste in a public duel? Or did you think her blade would end the shame of your failure?”

Hm. Not a woman you want to make angry, ‘less you want a tongue-lashing. And by tongue-lashing, I mean a complete dissolution of your entire worth. 

“Run along, my dear,” the First Enchanter murmurs silkily. “_Do _give my regards to your aunt.” She watches the man leave, cocking her head at his back. Her posture starkly reminds me of a wild cat toying with her prey. The rest of the party returns to their quiet discussions. Vivienne turns to me as the band starts up again, and she offers a warm smile, but her eyes are calculating. “You handled the marquis well. Are you sure you’re not Orlesian?”

“_Pretty _sure,” I muse.

She grins again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m so delighted you could attend this little gathering of mine. I’ve _so _wanted to meet you. This way, Herald. Let us speak in private, mm?”

“It was a pleasure, my lady,” Stanton says, bowing to me gracefully.

I smile at him and follow Vivienne up the stairs. She leads me to a quiet room, striding across a rug thicker than my clan's winter blankets to the open window at the end. I join her, breathing in the sweet scent from the gardens below. She turns to me, the moonlight bathing her in a cool glow.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“Suledin,” I return, “of…clan Lavellan…most recently of the Free Marches and certainly _not _the Herald of Andraste.”

Vivienne offers a chuckle, but it seems more to appease me than anything else. The nerve.

“Well,” I murmur, “I can safely say that your salon has exceeded my expectations so far.”

She smirks. “I’m glad to keep you entertained, my dear. I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles, but the faithful flock to your banner, pinning their hopes on you to deliver them from chaos. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause. Before you ask, my dear, I'm sure you will find me more than qualified for the task.

“I am well-versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal, and I am a mage of no small talent. Now, ordinarily, I would be happy to serve merely as a liaison to the court, but these are not ordinary times. The Veil has been ripped apart, and there is a hole in the sky. It is now the duty of every mage to work toward sealing the Breach, and so I would join the Inquisition in the field of battle. With me, I offer to you the last loyal mages of Thedas, and we are, of course, loyal first and foremost to service. We have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to _serve _man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

“Then you’re in favor of returning the mages to the Circle?”

“Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents? We do not have your _keepers _to guide our study,” she muses, and I can’t help but hear the note of disdain she barely veils. “We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own. In addition to the last loyal mages, I provide you my own talent, which, as I mentioned and you saw, is no small matter. You would also find yourself alongside a great admirer of the late Divine Justinia V, as well as someone who understands the workings of the Chantry. At its best, it unites the disparate cultures of Thedas and looks after its most vulnerable. Had she lived, Justinia could have accomplished so _much_.” There is a genuine twinge of emotion in her eye as she speaks of the late Divine, but she composes it so quickly that I can’t be sure I saw it at all. “Well, Herald? What do you say?”

I nod slowly. Perhaps a Circle-loving, prideful woman is not my _first _choice for an ally, but I came here for help, not friends. And I can't deny the use of her of her connections. I'm sure the ambassador can make quick work of this woman's knowledge, and another mage would undoubtedly prove invaluable.

Vivienne watches me quietly contemplate, her expression unreadable as she waits.

I finally nod formally and gratefully to her. “The Inquisition would be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”

“Great things are beginning, my dear,” Vivienne murmurs, pleased. “I can promise you that.”

***

At a few minutes to three, Solas, Cassandra, Varric, and I find ourselves at the gates to Adrast’s courtyard. The road is quiet, most everyone asleep in their beds at this late hour. Guards patrol the area in well-timed intervals, but this particular alley remains empty. 

“So, wait, she’s some high-and-mighty mage who believes in the Chantry?” Varric sighs heavily, displeased. “Great. Another Sebastian.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll get on famously.”

He just sighs again. “Hopefully this Red Jenny friend is less 'righteous.'”

I slip the key through the gate, pleased when it unlocks. “This feel weird to anyone else?” I mumble, stepping through. “Breaking and entering? Or…well…entering?”

“Eh,” Varric shrugs. “It’s a gray area.”

“_How_?”

“We heard someone screaming.”

I roll my eyes. "And just so happened to have a key?"

"It was already in the keyhole. Owner must have forgotten it there."

"I will not ask why you have these answers so ready," Cassandra mutters under her breath. 

"Probably best that way," Varric nods. 

We wind through a maze of hedges through the garden. When we arrive at the doors closing us off from the chateau, I test them to find them unlocked. I make a face at the others, shrugging carelessly as I pull one of the doors open.

And immediately duck, reeling back when a fireball rushes past my face.

“Shit,” I gasp, glancing back to see the others unharmed. "I'm starting to think this is the Orlesian version of a 'hello.'"

I step into the chateau courtyard to find a man in a gold mask staring at me. He lobs another fireball, and I use my staff to knock it aside.

“Herald of Andraste!” he shouts, his accent thick. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition _immeasurably_.”

“I honestly didn’t know you existed until you tried to kill me just now.”

“You don’t fool me! I’m too _important _for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”

A guard gives a pained grunt behind the man and falls to the ground. An elf in a red tunic, plaideweave leggings, and choppily-cut blond hair pulls back the string of her longbow, aiming at the man before me.

“Jus’ say ‘what,’” she calls with a grin.

The man gasps. “What is the—”

She releases her arrow, the shaft of it running through the man’s mouth a split second later.

“Gah!” I complain, jerking my hand up and my head away. _“Warning!”_

The girl giggles. “Eww! Squishy one, but ya heard me, right? Jus’ say ‘what’? Rich tits always try for more’n they deserve.” She leans down to retrieve her arrow, jerking it out with difficulty. “‘Blah, blah, blah, obey me, arrow in my face.’” She cleans the arrow on her tunic carelessly and adds it back to her quiver. “So, ya followed the notes well enough! Glad to see you’re…” She looks up at me and sighs heavily. “_And_, you’re an elf.” She shakes her head unhappily. “Well, hope you’re not…too elfy. I mean it’s all good, innit? The _important _thing is you _glow_. You’re the Herald thingy!”

“Yes…” I glance sideways before looking at her again. “What’s…happening right now?”

“No idea,” she shrugs, “I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at ‘im.”

“Your people?” Cassandra repeats. “Elves?”

“Ha!” the girl snorts loudly. “No. _People _people. Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it.”

“What?” I reply.

“For the reinforcements! Don’t worry—someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches,” she giggles confidentially.

I frown again, confused. “They’ve—”

Before I can even finish the question or process the motion, several men come shouting and running down the hall from the mansion behind her. I see their weapons first, but then my eyes widen as I realize I _didn't _mishear her. Their legs are all bear, and I have to commend their commitment to come charging out here half-naked. 

“Why wouldn’t you take their weapons?” I call to Sera as she hops to the balcony above and starts firing arrows.

“Because…no _breeches_!” she giggles harder.

“You know, Seeker,” Varric calls as I spin my staff around. I hear his crossbow fire quickly as she charges forward. “There I was, having a perfectly ordinary life! I thought the weirdest thing that would happen would be the tavern mixing up an order or Hawke drinking herself into thinking she could fly, but no—here I am, fighting alongside an elf who stole several men’s clothes because it made her laugh, an elf who is so serious that I worry his face might get stuck that way, and yet _another _elf who seems incapable of taking anything seriously.”

“Oh! Hey, that’s me!” I grin, pointing at myself.

“So thank you,” Varric continues. “Honestly. I could be drinking at the Hanged Man or arguing with some Merchants Guild idiots, but no, I’m here, in some Orlesian chateau garden fighting a bunch of nearly-naked humans.”

Cassandra scoffs, thrusting her sword into one of those men’s chests. “This was hardly my expectation!”

By the time the fighting is over, I’m convinced I never want to see a pair of men’s smallclothes ever again.

Sera grins and skips over to me, collecting her arrows along the way. “Friends really came through with that tip. _No breeches_!” She cackles again, her voice ringing out giddily. A small chuckle escapes me at the contagious sound of her laugh, and she grins. “So, Herald of Andraste. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

I laugh. “_I’m _the strange one,” I muse. “Could we take a few moments for sense to reassert itself? Who are you people?”

Sera snorts. “I’m not _people_, but I get what you want. It’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends? The Friends of Red Jenny! That’s me! Well, I’m one. So is a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall…There were _three _in Starkhaven! Brothers or somethin’. It’s just a name, yeah? Let’s little people, ‘friends,’ be part’a somethin’ while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera. ‘The Friends of Red Jenny’ are sort’a out there. I used them to help you! Plus arrows.”

“Wait, so…you’re offering spies?" I ask, confused. "We have a spymaster who—”

“Here’s how it is,” Sera says, cutting me off with an air of impatience. “You _important _people are up here, shovin’ ye cods around. ‘Blah, blah, I’ll crush you, I’ll crush _you_!’ Oh…crush you…” She starts making kissing noises, and I cock my head, more confused than ever. She clears her throat and drops her hands. “_Then _you’ve got cloaks and spy-kings. Like this tit. Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his…little knife. All those secrets, and what gave him up? Some houseboy who don’t know shite but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no, I’m not Knifey Shivdark all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches.” She giggles. “Like those guards? I stole their…Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

I look down, laughing once. “Alright, Sera,” I smirk. “I can use you and your friends.”

“Yes!” she grins, standing on her toes excitedly. “Get in good ‘fore you’re too big to like! That’ll keep your breeches where they should be! Plus, extra breeches, because I have all these…You have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? _Got _to be worth something. Anyway. Haven! Let’s go!”

“What, now?” I laugh.

“Yeah! No time like the present ‘n wha’ever.”

“We’ve booked a couple rooms at the—”

“Ah, no, I’ll just meet ya there, yeah? See ye there, Herald! This will be grand!”

I watch as Sera turns and skips off down an alley. At the last second, she breaks into a sprint, giggling as she turns a corner.

“Uh…” Varric murmurs.

“Score one for Team Inquisition?” I reply.

“She is certainly…colorful,” Cassandra adds.

“Worse case scenario, she steals everyone’s clothes,” Varric shrugs.

“Alright,” I muse, turning around. “Let’s…sleep. And then leave this blasted city before anything else weird happens.”

***

In the morning, we make our way groggily through the marketplace. Well, _I’m _groggy. Everyone else is just fine, despite our limited sleep.

“You guys are giving me a complex,” I complain, stifling a yawn as I follow the others. 

“Excuse me,” a woman says, her accent also Orlesian. She stops us in our tracks, and Cassandra steps beside me, her hand resting on her sword warily. The woman notes the reaction and holds her hands half up, revealing her lack of malicious intent. “If I might have a moment of your time?”

I see the woman's green Circle robes and glance at Cassandra. “Of course,” I reply.

“Wait,” Cassandra blinks. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Her voice is surprised as she removes her hand from her sword.

“Leader of the mage rebellion,” Solas adds, impressed. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

She nods. “I heard of the Chantry’s denouncement yesterday, and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes.”

“You almost missed us,” I muse. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“As am I. You are seeking help with the Breach, are you not? Perhaps you would look to your own people for help.”

“The mages would be my preferred alliance,” I admit, shrugging apologetically when Cassandra turns on me. “I was not aware you were will to discuss the matter, however.”

“Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe,” Fiona replies. “Come meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all. I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lady Herald.”

“Well, that was odd timing,” Varric mutters as we watch the woman disappear into a crowd, fading from sight.

Cassandra grimaces and then turns to me. “Come,” she says firmly. “Let us return to Haven.”


	13. Chargers and Wardens

When I wake up in Haven, I stretch out lazily on my bed, letting my arm drape over the edge. I never realized how good it would feel to be back in Ferelden. Two days in Val Royeaux, and I was ready to tear my hair out.

I get up slowly and dress, limited to either something human or my usual Dalish robes. I stick with the robes, combing my hair back into a simple ponytail to get it out of my way. I know Sera arrived here several hours ahead of us. When I asked one of the guards if they'd seen her, he said she was in the tavern, so I head off to find her, hoping to maybe understand her a bit better. Also, just because she amuses me.

Outside my cabin, the weather is particularly freezing, and I smile in the tufts of snow that drift down. Being in the heavy humidity of Orlais made me realize how fortunate I am that Haven is nestled in the snowy Frostbacks. The village is bustling, as it normally is at this late hour, and I realize I overslept. The guards are just switching duties as I pass them, and I smile politely when they catch me watching. When I step through the doors of the little tavern, I find Sera sitting near the fire. She waves me over, grinning from her chair.

“So, this is it, huh?” she muses, looking around. “Oh no—it’s fine, yeah? It’s just…I thought it’d be bigger.” She hesitates and then laughs loudly. “Pfft, that would’a been _hilarious _if you were a man, right? Wasted." I smirk at her, shaking my head faintly. "Anyway, stoppin’ wars should earn more sovereigns’n this. Need things back to normal for coins to be flowin’ again. Another reason the templars ‘n mages need to be sat down.”

“The templars _and _the mages?" I muse. "Most people pick a side.”

“Most people are stupid.”

I snort. “Fair, but where do you stand on the war?”

“In the middle, with everyone else. You know what I hear about mages? Nothin’, until one goes all demony. Know what I hear about templars? _Nothing_, until they take ‘maybe mages.’ That’s why they both need to be sat down, like I said.”

“I think it’s a hair more complicated,” I chuckle.

“Well, sure,” Sera allows. “The sky has a hole in it. But I can’t put an arrow in that. Well, I _have._" She frowns. "Doesn’t come down. That’s…weird. ‘N that’s the point, right? It’s weird ‘n right there, but they still want to punch each other. They’re too busy to look up where the real questions are.”

“Is there something else you’re looking for?” I wonder. “Like, what’s behind all this?”

“Maybe? I don’t know! First thing’s first, right? I help you—march-march-arrow-kick—then people stop being stupid, and everything starts to make sense again. Sound good to you, all touched Lady Herald?”

I laugh. “Sounds good to me. End all war, stitch the sky.”

She cocks her head at me.

“The easy one first, of course,” I add.

She giggles loudly. “You’re daft, yeah? Most people get special, they lose their snark. Can’t see how stupid it all is. I think I’ll like you, Lady Herald. Maybe you’re a _little _chosen, yeah?”

“Well, it sounds good to me. I’m ready to give it a shot. That’s all I can ask from anyone else.”

“I’m in!” she grins. “It’s an investment, yeah? Better pay off, too. Stupid war ‘n…everythin’. I had things to do!”

I laugh. “Me too. It’s churlish really.”

“Right!”

“Okay, I thought I could make it, but I’ve got to get out of here. Too early for so much alcohol.”

She giggles as I stand and escape.

I take a huge breath of fresh air, feeling a little lightheaded from the scent of the tavern. 

“Ah, good, Herald,” Cassandra calls. “Come with me. We must speak with the others.”

“Gah, there goes my nap,” I murmur following her.

“The others are waiting in the Chantry.”

“Naturally,” I muse.

She leads me so quickly that I have to jog to keep up.

“Are we racing?” I wonder, my breath pulled from me more sharply.

“You really should train more often,” she says, glancing at me.

I make an impressed face. “That was a good one,” I smirk. "Point Cassandra."

She rolls her eyes with a disgusted noise, walking at a more brutal pace to punish me. We pass by Solas on the way. I look up and wave at him, smiling like an idiot. He returns it kindly, his lips curling up almost in amusement. It makes my heart react wildly, and I sigh at myself.

Cassandra pushes open the Chantry doors, leading me inside.

Josephine looks up from her clipboard, and I see the rest of the war council waiting in the middle of the hall. “It’s good you’ve returned,” she murmurs. “We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra repeats in surprise.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead,” Leliana replies. “Of course.”

Cullen crosses his arms. “It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

“At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now,” I sigh.

“Do we?” Cassandra wonders. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True,” Leliana nods. “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been…very odd.”

“We must look into it,” Cullen decides. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

“Yeah,” I allow with a shrug, "but the mages are actually _willing _to talk.”

“The Herald _could _simply go to meet them in Redcliffe,” Josephine agrees.

Cullen snorts. “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!”

“At least they’ve opened a dialogue,” I reply. “Lucius shut me down so fast that I couldn’t even get out the tiny detail about sealing the Breach.” I tighten my left hand into a fist, feeling the ache return to my hand with a vengeance. A flicker of irritation flares with it.

“We cannot discount the mages,” Josephine says.

“Or the templars,” Cullen adds.

“The mages are open to discussion,” Leliana argues. “We at least know where to find them. We have no idea where the templars are.”

"Are you suggesting they're not worth the time it would take to find them?" Cullen demands. 

Leliana rolls her eyes impatiently. "I'm suggesting we don't _have _the time to find them. If they wanted to be useful, they had their chance. The mages are at least willing to discuss matters."

Cullen snorts. "No doubt with several strings attached."

"Anything they ask for, Commander, would be worth it if it means we can seal the Breach," Josephine says firmly. 

"We don't know that," Cullen replies. "Undoubtedly, they'll demand their freedom in return for their aid, and we can't offer that. They're dangerous and unpredictable. The templars at least have discipline."

Leliana scoffs. "Is that what you call it?"

“Just—make a decision,” I snap a little harshly. “Tell me where to do. We don’t have time for all this bickering.”

“I agree,” Cassandra says.

“We _shouldn’t _discount Redcliffe,” Josephine repeats. “The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, Ambassador,” Cassandra allows, “but more desperate than you realize.”

“So, it’ll be dangerous,” I sigh, rubbing my wrist with my right hand in a useless effort to ease the pain. “I’ve been in danger since before I stepped out of the Fade.”

Cullen grimaces. “Right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra decides. “That’s something you can help with,” she adds, glancing at me. 

“In the meantime,” Josephine murmurs, “we should consider other options.”

Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra turn around, heading in their own directions, but Leliana moves closer to me.

“There is one other matter," she says quietly. "Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is…curious.”

I chew my cheek, resisting the urge to wince at a particularly sharp stab of pain. “That does sound odd, I agree.”

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

“And if he can’t?”

Leliana blinks, her expression carefully neutral. “Then there may be more going on than we thought.”

With that pleasant thought, Leliana turns around and heads into the war room after Cullen. I sigh, turning around to leave the Chantry. I shake my hand out, swallowing as the burn begins to throb. Before I can escape the dim room, though, Vivienne steps into my path, surprising me. 

“Madame de Fer,” I greet, clenching my fist. “I did not realize you had arrived.”

“Early this morning," she nods dismissively. "I met an elven mage earlier. Solas, I believe he was called.”

“Yes,” I reply, unable to curb a fond smile.

“I admit I was surprised. I didn’t expect to find mages among the Inquisition, apart from yourself, of course. Tell me, why were _you _at the Divine Conclave?”

“The war benefits no one,” I reply carefully. “It must end, and order must be restored. I went to see which way the wind was blowing to help my clan prepare.”

She nods approvingly. “If only the rebels saw things so clearly. Justinia’s death has shattered the balance of power in Thedas. If it is not restored quickly, countless lives will be lost. Mages, templars—innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate.”

My hand throbs, and I'm annoyed me that she blocked me from leaving, but I try not to reveal that to her. “I imagine that’s why you wanted to be here, to have a hand in deciding that fate.”

“Wouldn’t you? For almost a thousand years, the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker. And now many believe _you _are the agent of His will. Whatever the truth is, that belief gives you _power_.”

I grip my left hand, itching at the glove. “I’ll try to put it to good use,” I murmur to hopefully end the conversation.

“I suppose we’ll see,” she sighs, displeased with that response. She gives me a false smile. “I’ve stolen enough of your time, my dear. Don’t let me keep you.”

I nod at her and step aside, moving out from the Chantry. The sun blinds me, and I move briskly forward, but I don't get very far.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says quietly. I stop, shaking out my hand as I look up at the owner. A soldier of some kind—not one I’ve seen here before. Judging from his armor, he's not one of ours. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“Sorry about that,” I murmur, shaking my head as I step closer. “What’s the message? Also, who are you?”

The soldier smiles at my tone. “Cremisius Aclassi. I’m with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company."

"I'll...admit that I've never heard of your company," I murmur a little breathily when he pauses, my voice tight. I swallow to clear my throat, my vision blurring slightly from the pain. I breathe out a little sharply, but the sound goes unnoticed by the man before me. 

"We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra, but we got word on some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander Iron Bull offers the information free of charge.” I frown slightly, intrigued and a little confused. “If the Inquisition would like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for you, my commander has asked that the Herald meet us there and watch us work.”

Ah. Interesting. “Well, I look forward to meeting this Iron Bull,” I reply, clenching my fist before I shake it out again. The soldier notices this time, glancing at my hand before meeting my eyes. I turn to go and stop, turning around with a blink. “The Storm Coast is a decent journey to make. Please, feel free to stay here until you’re ready to depart again.”

“Thank you,” he replies with a polite nod, “but I’d best be getting back.”

I nod and smile. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again. I'll gather the others, and we'll travel to meet your commander soon on the Storm Coast."

The soldier's eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Then you are—the Herald?”

Irritation flickers again at the title, and I know it’s misplaced. It isn't his fault. “Unfortunately,” I smile wryly.

“Forgive me, Your Worship, I did not realize—”

“Please,” I say, shaking my head when he offers a quick bow. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m sorry to run off, but we will find you all at the Storm Coast. Please tell your company commander that I look forward to meeting him.”

“Thank you, Herald.”

I wince. “Suledin,” I correct with a pained smile, shaking my hand out again. “Or Lavellan, whichever you prefer.”

“As you say, my lady,” he replies with a formal nod. "Forgive me, but...are you alright?"

“No," I admit, laughing weakly. "I...tweaked my wrist training." Well, _that _was an interesting excuse. "Excuse me,” I smile, walking backwards.

Tears prick my eyes, and I gasp quietly as I turn around. I grip my left hand tightly, feeling the fire return threefold. I massage my hand until doing so makes it hurt more.

I find Solas’ cabin as quickly as I can and knock quietly on the door.

“Come in,” he calls softly, his voice faint through the thick door. 

I push inside carefully, poking my head through. “Solas?”

He looks up from his desk, closing a book.

“Are you busy? I can come back—”

“No, please,” he replies, gesturing for me to enter.

“Sorry to bother you,” I say tightly. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind—”

He must see how I hold my hand and the tears in my eyes, because his expression softens, and he holds his hands out to me.

“Thank you,” I breathe, stepping closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t apologize,” he murmurs quietly.

I take my glove off slowly, gasping a little, and then I give him my shaking hand. His fingers are soft on mine, and he finds my eyes as he begins the incantation. I feel the rhythm of his words roll smoothly off his tongue, and once again, I can’t help but feel like I know the melody, but I can't place why. Solas' expression is soft, almost sorrowful, and I lower my eyes after a moment, feeling my cheeks flush. I watch his hands instead, and the soft glow that emanates from them.

When he’s finished, I regret the disappearance of his fingers. My own hand lingers for a moment, outstretched, and it takes me a second to take my hand back.

“Thank you,” I say again. “Sorry for interrupting.” I realize I said that already, too, and I quickly move on. “What—uh—what’re you working on?” I wonder, clasping my hands behind my back. I lean over a little, turning my head to read the title only to realize I don’t even know the language.

“I was—researching known magical artifacts, hoping to understand what may have caused the explosion. As you suggested, it would help to know it by sight.”

“Have you found anything promising?” I ask, stepping closer to see his notes. They’re written in elven, but I can’t read them from this far away.

“Nothing useful,” he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “Is there anything I can do to help? Apparently, being the Herald to a god you don’t believe in has its benefits.”

“You doubt Andraste’s existence?” he wonders, sounding interested, not irritated—unlike the others who’ve asked me the same. “Sit,” he adds, gesturing to a chair beside him.

I smile and move to the chair, my knees brushing against his leg in the tight space. I sit close to him, resting my arm on his desk. “I believe she existed,” I answer. “As a person.”

“But you don’t believe in the Maker,” he finishes.

“We have our own gods,” I remind him.

He looks away with a quiet breath, his eyes searching the wall beside us.

“That brings up something _I _was wondering.”

He looks at me curiously.

“What do _you _believe in?”

His expression turns questioning. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t strike me as very religious, but am I misreading that? When I mention our gods…my gods,” I amend gently, “you don’t respond, but you don’t respond to the Maker, either.”

His eyes search mine. “You see a great deal.”

I blush, hoping he doesn't realize _why _I've paid more attention to him in particular. I hesitate a moment before I remember myself. “It’s a gift,” I murmur modestly. "So what do you believe? If that's not too personal. You don't have to answer."

He allows a small smile. “I believe in cause and effect.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s not really an answer.”

“No,” he chuckles. “I suppose it isn't. Perhaps I have no faith.”

I consider that, searching him. “That must be lonely.”

“Not really,” he replies indifferently.

“You don’t ever worry about someone watching over you? I find it comforting to seek out Mythal when I’m afraid or Falon’Din when I lose someone. My clan used to—” I stop when I see Solas’ jaw clench. I don’t think he realizes he’s done it. I smile. “You don’t even like hearing about them,” I realize softly. 

He looks up, parting his lips to speak—to offer an apology, I think.

“It’s alright,” I reply quickly. “I’m not offended, of course. I understand. It must sound to you like what it sounds like to _me _when they go on about the Maker and the Maker’s plan and all that…Do you believe in Andraste?” I wonder. “As a person, not a religion.”

He smiles softly. “I saw her.”

I freeze. “What?” I ask slowly.

“In the Fade.”

My jaw drops. “You—_what_?”

He nods solemnly.

“I—wh-what was she like?”

Solas releases a long breath, searching the wall for the answer. “She was…strong,” he replies, his words slow when he usually finds them so quickly. “She was righteous. She sought freedom for her people, made the elves’ cause _her _cause. She devoted her life to justice and equality....and she died for it.”

“Then the Chant is true?” I gasp. 

He squints slightly. “Parts of it. Slivers of truth are buried within, but the Chant suffers the same fate as any history or religion. Their stories are written dozens, sometimes hundreds of years after the event, when the only facts that remain come from those passed down through generations, facts that are twisted and marred by the weight of fiction.”

“That makes you angry,” I note. 

He glances at me silently, his expression difficult to read. 

“What of our—sorry, _the _Evanuris?”

“What of it?”

“Did you see them in the Fade, too? You mentioned seeing Arlathan. Did you see the pantheon?”

He shakes his head once, looking away from me. “I saw no gods in my journeys in the Fade.”

I chew my lip, backtracking a little. “So…just cause and effect, huh?”

He gives a small smile. “I believe…that we create our own destinies.”

“That, therefore, nothing is inevitable?” I smile softly.

He nods, looking down.

“I like that," I admit, smiling again. "I—”

Someone knocks on Solas’ door, which I realize that, in my haste, I left open. “Hey, Chuckles, have you seen Snow any—there you are,” he says, coming around the corner into the room. “The Seeker’s looking for you. Think she’s ready to start tearing down tents if you don't appear.”

“Did she say what for?” I wonder.

“War council, I think.”

I sigh. “I’ll be right there. Thanks, Varric."

“No problem, Snow.”

I watch him leave and then turn regrettably back to Solas. “Guess I have to go.”

He gives me an amused expression, likely at my reluctance.

My heart thuds in my ears erratically, and I glance up at him nervously. “Maybe…we could talk more—tonight? Maybe with dinner? I-if you want, that is. I mean, I’m not—of course you don’t _have _to—that’s not an order or any—”

“I would like that,” Solas replies, his smile openly amused now.

I grin too wide, forcing myself to rein it in. “Excellent. Well…” I stand up quickly, hitting his desk with my hip. “Whoops—” I step forward, brushing against him clumsily, my knee hitting his elbow. “Whoops, sorry, sorry—I’ll see you there, then. I mean _then_, then. Okay, I’m leaving…But I’ll see you…”

Solas’ smile spreads, and I watch it as I walk backwards. “Tonight, lethallin,” he finishes.

“Yes! Forgot what I was...saying—yes. Tonight. I shall see you tonight.”

I find the door and close it behind myself, trying to ignore the way my stomach flutters as I lean back against it, closing my eyes.

My mind drifts back to everything I just did, my cheeks growing redder the more I recall. I shake my head, my heart hammering in my chest. “Gods, you complete and utter _i__diot_."


	14. The Iron Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a general note for the entire story here, I was wildly uncertain about travel times. I tried to make a safe enough guess as to how long it would take them to travel from one place to another, but I know my estimates are inconsistent and probably wrong...Sorry about that!! Haha I tried my best, but it's difficult to gauge blindly! :)

It takes many long days of travel to reach the Storm Coast. Scout Harding and her men went ahead and settled a camp before we even left Haven. Leliana received that first letter, informing her of their arrival, and then nothing. Worried for the scouts’ safety, I decided to head there before the Hinterlands.

We had to camp just outside the Storm Coast last night after it started pouring. This morning, the rain shows no signs of letting up as we find ourselves crossing the grassy and rocky hills nearer to the coast. I’m not sure why I was expecting sunny skies and warm breezes from the sea. I would laugh at my former self if I wasn’t so damn cold.

“Hey, Snow, anything you can do about the rain?” Varric wonders, tucking loose locks of his soaked hair behind his ear.

I gasp as we climb a particularly brutal hill, my own hair a heavy, thick mane down my back. “You think I wouldn't if I could?” I laugh.

“Eh, thought I’d ask. Any of those barriers work as umbrellas?”

“Technically,” I reply. “And I considered it very seriously, but it would drain me.”

Varric snaps his fingers. “Ah well.”

I grin at him, wiping my forehead with an equally damp sleeve. “Gets right to the bone, doesn’t it?”

Before he can reply, we reach the top of the hill and step into the Inquisition camp, and I'm glad to see it appears normal, our agents safe. Tarps have been erected overhead in many places, and I duck under one of them, shivering as I finally step out of the rain. I curse and bring my hair over my shoulder, wringing the braid out. The nearby fire helps warm my fingers, and I step closer to it with Varric, sighing in relief. Several soldiers are at a nearby talking quietly over a map. Scout Harding is at the outskirts of the camp, standing near a cliff and discussing a matter seriously with one of her scouts. I throw my braid back over my shoulder as she glances over, spotting us. She smiles and waves, walking over with her arms behind her back. 

“Your Worship!” she greets, ducking under the tarp. She grimaces a little when she sees our soaked clothing, offering a sympathetic expression. “For what it’s worth, welcome to the Storm Coast. I would have sent word sooner, but our efforts here have been…delayed.”

“Delayed? How so?” I wonder.

She gestures for me to follow her. I glance back to smile at the others before following her to the edge of the camp. She leads us back into the rain briefly and then under a new tarp on the cliffs. The ledge drops steeply down a long, rocky cliffside that leads gradually to the beach below. I back away from it warily, a little dizzy from the height. 

“There’s a group of bandits operating in the area,” Harding tells me now that we're alone. “They know the terrain, and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader.” She looks at the beach below. “Haven’t heard back, though.”

“When did they leave?”

“Two days ago.”

I close my eyes briefly. “I’ll do what I can to find our people.”

“Thank you, Your Worship. That’s a relief.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“The soldiers didn’t have an exact location for the bandits, but they were starting their search farther down the beach. With all this fuss, we haven’t been able to conduct a proper search for the Wardens, either. I’ll begin a report to Leliana, detailing our troubles here.”

“She'll be relieved to hear from you,” I nod. “In addition, have you seen a mercenary group near here? Someone from their company was sent to collect me. They requested a meeting.”

Harding nods. “There has been some fighting over the last few days—off and on—down the beach a ways. My agents discovered what appeared to be Tevinter soldiers fighting against an unknown group. When we tried to intervene, the mercenary group’s leader loudly, and rather persuasively, insisted we pull back. They seemed friendly, though, so my agents have kept their distance. We’ve kept an eye on the situation.”

“Alright, thank you for the report, Scout Harding.”

“Of course, Your Worship. I’ll write to Leliana and be on my way.”

“You aren’t staying on the Coast?”

“Leliana said that when you arrived, I was to head south—place called the Fallow Mire. We’ve had some troubling reports from our agents there, as well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I will, Your Worship.” She offers a smile as she turns. “Well, good luck, and enjoy the sea air. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

Cassandra replaces Scout Harding almost immediately. “What’s the situation?”

“You're very efficient," I muse, earning her scowl. "A group of our men has possibly been captured by a local bandit group. Iron Bull’s men are on the beach fighting Tevinter soldiers. Our soldiers take priority, of course, but the mercenary company has been fighting for days off and on, according to Scout Harding. Perhaps that’s where we’re needed most. What do you think?”

Cassandra considers. “Perhaps we should see this _Iron Bull_ before he and his company leave, and then we can focus solely on the missing soldiers.”

I nod. “Let’s go, then.”

I choose a careful path down to the beach. As we near the shore, I hear the fighting plainly. I move more briskly, and then take a second to assess the situation.

A large, dual-horned Qunari is the most obvious person on the beach at first glance. He's easily a couple heads taller than anyone else, and he sweeps a massively war hammer that’s almost as tall as he is over his head. He slams it back down with a dragon-like roar. I look away from what it does to the Tevinter soldier unfortunate enough to be caught under it, realizing at once this must be the Iron Bull. And what an appropriate name it is. Flanking him, and spread out thickly around their leader in waves, several dozen men and women fight the uniformly clad Tevinters. Amongst them, I spot Cremisius fighting protectively alongside a fellow Dalish mage, keeping her covered carefully while her magic flits gracefully around the field. I realize her staff is expertly curved to look like a bow at first glance. She even has a quiver of arrows tied to the belt at her waist, and I can't help but admire the ruse. Were she not fighting with magic, I would have assumed she was an archer. 

I jog forward across the rocky beach to reach the fighting. Though it's clear the company doesn't _need _our help, it feels wrong to just watch them fight alone. I stop at the edge of the makeshift battlefield, and Cassandra runs past me, fearlessly throwing herself into the chaos—as usual. I throw up a quick shield around her, focusing my energy on completing it before I move on. I don’t manage the barrier as flawlessly or quickly as Solas, but once it’s set, I spin my staff, focusing on my greater strength with lightning. Solas and Varric join me, and we add what we can to the fighting. It's still obvious, however, that the mercenary group had this well-handled before we arrived. I see why our agents didn’t bother joining.

The ground is littered with several dozen bodies, all of them uniformed in Tevinter robes or armor. Several of the mercenary company's soldiers seem exhausted, but it in no way affects their fighting. Each of them continues, not even taking a moment to breathe in the wake of reinforcements, if they’ve noticed us at all.

Iron Bull brings his hammer down on the last Tevinter warrior before calling to his men to stand down, and only then do his comrades stumble backwards or fall straight to the ground, gasping for air. All of them relax but Cremisius, who breathlessly sheathes his blade and walks through the corpses to stand near Iron Bull, his hands clasped behind his back respectfully.

“Krem!” Iron Bull grins, out of breath. “How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” the Qunari rumbles, patting Cremisius’ shoulder so hard that the man smirks as he catches himself tiredly. “Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks.”

Cremisius nods at Iron Bull, turning away. As he does, he catches sight of my approach. He offers a formal nod before continuing on to his destination.

Iron Bull looks over his men proudly, resting his war hammer on his shoulder. He spots me and shrugs the weapon off, gripping it tirelessly as he meets me off to the side, away from the bodies. I spot several black-clad men work their way through the field after speaking with Cremisius, and I realize that "throatcutters" was a very literal word to use for their job. I wince, turning my back on the scene before I overthink the realities of war. I crane my neck up at the massive Qunari in front of me instead, stepping back once to see him better.

A rich, deep laugh rumbles good-naturedly out of his chest as he peers down at me, and he sits heavily on a boulder, resting his hand on his war hammer casually. Sitting, he’s exactly my height, though his bull-like horns raise up another foot. He appraises me with one eye, his other hidden behind a black eyepatch. Three thick scars run across his the gray skin if his forehead, disappearing behind the eyepatch, and I wince slightly at the implication of the old wound. Thick black stubble lines his jaws and chin, arcing over his mouth as he offers me a somewhat cocky smirk.

Despite the smile, I can't help but see how intimidating he is, and not only because I just saw him crush several men to death with his massive war hammer. He wears a harness over one shoulder, but the rest of his torso and his other arm are both bear of any armor, revealing a thick, broad chest, muscles larger than my head lining his arms. The war hammer seems redundant. I'm sure he could flick someone to death just fine. Thick, milky scars from an array of weapons and claws crisscross his skin almost like tattoos, and I'm a little overwhelmed by the dozens of stories they reveal, the countless battles he's fought. 

As the first Qunari I've officially met, the only word I can come up with is impressive. Very, very impressive. 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” he muses, raising his eyebrow. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

I smirk at him. “Kind of you, I think I’d prefer to actually be able to _see_ you.”

Iron Bull laughs again, the sound bursting from him like he _didn’t _just spend days fighting and killing. “Fair enough. You _are _pretty short.”

I scoff, resting my hands on my hips. “_You’re _abnormally tall. Iron Bull, I presume?” I add as he laughs.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.” His second-in-command approaches again, his hands professionally folded behind his back. Iron Bull nods at him, glancing at me. “I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

“Yes,” I nod, smiling at the man. “Good to see you, Lieutenant.”

“Krem’s fine, Your Worship,” he corrects. “It’s good to see you again, as well.” He nods politely before looking at Iron Bull. “Throatcutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offence, Krem,” he adds with a rich chuckle.

“None taken,” Krem replies as he walks backwards a few steps. “Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?” He smirks, turning around.

I purse my lips, resisting the urge to smile as Iron Bull’s laugh roars out. He looks back at me, coughing once. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“How much _do_ you cost, exactly?”

“It wouldn’t cost you anything personally, ‘less you wanna buy drinks later.” I smirk. “Your ambassador—what’s her name…Josephine?” I frown slightly, but I suppose that’s public knowledge. I wasn’t aware. “We’d go through her and get the payments set up. Gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is it'd be money well-spent.”

I nod in agreement. “The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are, but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.” I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man.” He stands up again, towering over me. “Whatever it is—demons, dragons? The bigger the better. Now, there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off.” He gestures for me to follow him. He takes us down the shore a ways, stopping on an uneven surface that makes us more or less the same height again. “Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“It’s a Qunari order,” he shrugs, unsurprised. “They handle information, loyalty, security—all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well…_we’re _spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get _reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

I raise both eyebrows this time, impressed and even a little touched by his upfront admission. “You’re a Qunari spy and you just…told me?”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing—it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am, I’m on _your _side.”

“No, I didn't mean it like...I’m not judging you; I’m glad you told me. I just mean that you easily could’ve hidden what you are.”

“From something called the _Inquisition_?” he chuckles. “Nah, I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it from me.”

“What would you send home in these reports you’d write?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy,” he replies casually. “Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at easy. That’s good for everyone.”

“And what would you be sharing with us? I feel like that’s…probably something I’m supposed to ask,” I add, glancing back at Cassandra. She watches us closely, her hand resting on her sword, as if preparing to jump in if he randomly attacks me. While that obviously won't happen, I can't lie that it's nice she has my back, regardless of her reasons. 

Iron Bull chuckles. “Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone they’re not much, but if your spymaster’s worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

I raise another eyebrow. “She?” I repeat.

He smirks. “I did a little research. Plus, I’ve always had a weakness for redheads.”

I laugh once, and then frown. Not only does he know she's a woman, but he's seen her, knows what she looks like. “Well. Glad you’re on my side.”

“Basically, this is the deal. I won’t share anything with my superiors that would compromise your operations, but I also won’t give _you _anything that would compromise _their _efforts. Seem fair?”

“More than,” I nod. “You’re in. We’d be lucky to have you and the Chargers.”

“Excellent,” he roars with a grin, reaching out to shake my hand. He laughs again when the simple gesture jerks me forward. “Krem! Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

“What about the casks, Chief?” Krem calls back. “We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal ‘em! You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.” He turns to wink at me. “We’ll meet you back at Haven, boss.”

I smirk at him and nod. Cassandra heads over when she sees we’re done.

“It went well, I take it?”

“Very,” I nod. “They’re gonna head to Haven. Come on. Let’s go find those soldiers. I’ll tell you what he said on the way.”


	15. The Wandering Warden

It took us a week to find the missing soldiers in the Storm Coast and settle the dispute with the local bandits, the Blades of Hessarian. It ended in a one-on-one challenge duel between me and the bandits' chief. After the I eked out a clumsy victory, my hand ached so much that I almost begged Solas to fix it in front of everyone. I managed to wait several excruciating hours until we were finally alone in camp to do it. By the time I finally reached him, I was, embarrassingly enough, in tears. We gained an alliance with the Blades, however, and I asked one of the scouts to write out a letter to Leliana the morning we left.

We traveled all the way back down to the Hinterlands to find the Grey Warden Leliana mentioned and, hopefully, speak with the mages.

As soon as I wake up in the Inquisition tent, I desperately want to go back to sleep. Traveling makes for uneven, uncomfortable sleeping hours, and I spent most of my night talking quietly with Solas. It was a fascinating conversation about uthenera, originally, but it somehow flitted to his knowledge on King Calenhad before ending with a discussion of the Antivan Crows.

Even as I roll over drearily, I can’t manage regret the time I spent up well past the sunset. I smile sleepily to myself as I sit up, recalling how Solas let me play with his fingers while he spoke. At first, he seemed amused, but by the time we said good night to each other, his smile was warm and affectionate, and it made my heart hammer idiotically.

I pull my Dalish boots on tiredly, hoping that we can manage to find Blackwall and recruit the mages without all the drama that seems to follow me around. I’d like to be back at Haven already, sleeping in my own bed. Even _that _isn't really my bed, but it's as close I'm going to get for a while. 

I emerge from my tent, rubbing the sleep from my eyes drearily, and approach the decanter by the campfire. I pour a large cup of tea, praying it’s strong enough to wake me.

“Herald,” someone calls, startling me somewhat. I turn to see one of the Inquisition's agents. “Message for you.”

I accept the scrolls she extends with a quick thank you and a tired smile. I take my tea and the scrolls to a table where Varric is nursing his own mug. He nods at me as I fall down heavily opposite him, groaning.

“Morning, Snow,” he mumbles.

I grunt once in greeting. “Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, checking the scrolls. One has Clan Lavellan’s seal, one has Keeper Deshanna’s, and one bears a purple raven emblem—Leliana’s stamp.

“Something like that,” he sighs.

“Everyone else still sleeping?”

“Are you kidding? Cassandra’s been up since before dawn abusing some poor training dummy.” He nudges his chin in her direction, and I wince and groan.

“Just watching her is painful,” I complain. “What about Solas?” I ask it carefully, trying to appear indifferent. I can't say how successful I am, but if Varric notices the lilt in my voice, he ignores it. 

“I don’t think he actually ever sleeps. I’m serious. Man’s been reading over on the cliffs since before I got up.”

“How,” I gasp, taking a scalding sip of tea. I make a face, blinking dramatically. It wants for sugar, but I can't deny that it'll get me moving. 

I break Leliana’s seal, unfolding the letter. It’s a report of several things we discussed at the war table—updates from her, Josephine, and Cullen. At the end, she mentions she’s forwarding two letters sent by my clan. I smile, relieved. Now I can relax and enjoy the others. I pick up Deshanna’s letter, breaking the green seal.

_Da’len, _

_ Andaran atish’an. It does my heart well to hear that you are safe. Our clan was visited by members of the Inquisition who spoke persuasively of the good work you are doing, as well as the fairness with which our kind have been treated by the Inquisition itself._

_ You know that Clan Lavellan has little by the way of gold, but I gave the messengers some of our healing herbs, as Sylaise blessed us with abundance in our recent foraging. We would be a distraction if we came to the Inquisition itself, our hunters arguing with humans as they so easily do. Assan, of course, asked permission to go, but I have requested he remain here with us for now. I do not wish him to disrupt the good work you are doing, and he is far too much of an asset to us to allow his parting. We have already lost the heart of our clan; we can lose no more. Nevertheless, da’len, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you. _

_ Dareth shiral, _

_ Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

I smile through my tears, unfurling the next one.

_Lethallan, _

_ We were all very relieved to receive your letters, me most of all. I also did not sneeze at the gifts you included. Too kind, too kind. This Inquisition you wrote of sounds…intense. But I’m glad you’re happy. The people you’re working with sound kind and interesting. Of course, you and I both know that no one could possibly replace me, but I’m glad you’re not completely bored there in the middle of nowhere. _

_ Now, enough about you. I was hoping to tell you this in person, but seeing as how you're too busy with Herald things to come for a visit...I’m very excited to inform you that, with the keeper’s blessing, you know who and I will be allowed to marry. I was unsure if Keeper Deshanna would allow such a union, given that we will be unable to offer another little Dalish running around (obviously), but she merely congratulated us and gave us her permission (she actually SMILED, can you believe it? I didn't think she was capable). As I write this, I prepare to wed the love of my life, and I’m delighted to say you had a very large hand in that. It was all my moping about losing my very dear friend to the Chantry that resulted in many a night spent together. We quickly stopped talking about you—sorry, lethallan—and moved on to more important matters—me. So, thank you, Sul. Thank you for finally leaving. _

_ I, of course, kid. I miss you every single day (would you believe I actually cried this morning when we went foraging, because you and I used to go together. Get it together, Assan). I pray to the gods that they see fit to return you to us when you have finished your work in the south. Please be careful, lethallan. You mean far more to me than I could ever express. Heartsickness over your absence is one thing, but I could not bear to hear news of you getting hurt. Please be well._

_ I eagerly await your response, and I pass along Lloren’s greetings, as well. _

_ Yours, _

_ Assan_

I smile and hug the letter, breathing out through the lump in my throat and the tears blurring my vision. 

“Good news?” Varric murmurs, looking up at me.

I wipe my eyes, nodding. “The best. I was worried my clan might suffer for my actions, but they seem to be doing alright. It’s wonderful to hear from them.”

“I’m glad,” he replies. “It’s good to hear from family.”

“Do you have any?”

“Ah, no. Not by blood, anyway. My brother died a while back. Hawke’s family to me, though. Makes me happy when she bothers to remember to write.”

I grin at his tone, tucking the letters safely inside my satchel. “Assan is like that, too, sometimes. He can be _very _forgetful.” My chest tightens, and I swallow thickly, realizing I need to change subjects if I intend to keep it together. Thinking of Assan is a dangerous road that more often than not leads to me crying myself to sleep from homesickness. I sip my tea, keeping away from such thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. How did you meet Cassandra? You two clearly have a past.”

He snorts. “The Seeker had some questions about the events in Kirkwall, and I had answers.”

“Well, that’s ominous.

“Oh, it was, Snow. Suffice it to say…remember when you woke up in chains in some dungeon after stepping out of the Fade? Well, it was pretty much like.” I laugh. “Cassandra does enjoy her interrogations.”

“Fen’Harel,” I cackle, leaning over. “I’m sorry—it’s not funny, but she’s just so—”

“Theatrical? Yeah. Should’ve seen her frothing at the mouth before you woke up. I thought she might actually kill someone.”

“They grow up so fast,” I muse, glancing at Cassandra as she thrashes the dummy. I wince, and Varric laughs. “One more question, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Then it’s my turn,” he smirks.

“_I’m _an open book,” I muse. “The crossbow. Bianca?”

He nods fondly.

“I’ve never seen one like it—her.”

“And you never will. She’s a one-of-a-kind.”

“Where’d you come up with the name?”

“Oh, you know how it is. Some things name themselves.”

“So she’s not named for someone?”

He squints at me playfully. “Suffice it to say, that’s the one story I’ll never tell. We’ll have to leave it at that.”

“Oh,” I muse. “A mystery. Alright, alright, fair enough, master dwarf, fair enough.”

“My turn. Solas.”

I peer down at my tea. “Hm?”

He chuckles. “You like him, don’t you, Snow?”

“What? Pff—_no_. I mean...He’s very—uh, smart! And he, you know, makes for a good…conversationalist when he…” I sigh, peeking up at Varric’s wildly amused expression. “Is it that obvious?” I groan, dropping my head to the table.

Varric laughs and pats my arm. “It’s sweet, Snow.”

I groan louder.

He laughs again. “For what it’s worth, I think he likes you too.”

“What? Why would you even suggest such an atrocious—”

“Snow,” Varric laughs. “Maker’s breath.”

“Are you finished torturing me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles. “Got another question for you.”

“I’m scared.”

“Fen’Harel—that’s one of your gods or something, right?”

I look up, though my face still feels like a furnace. “Yeah. Or—well, he _was_. It’s complicated.”

“Ooh, interesting. How so?”

“He _was _one of the Evanuris, but—”

“Who all’s the Evanuris again?”

“Mythal is the protector and the All-Mother. She’s married to Elgar’nan, the god of vengeance and the All-Father. Then there’s Falon’Din, friend of the dead. We often invoke his name in a prayer for someone who has died or ask for his guidance into death. His twin is Dirthamen, keeper of secrets. Andruil is the goddess of the hunt, and her sister is Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. She helps us with more domestic tasks, such as foraging for herbs. June is the god of the craft and brother to Andruil and Sylaise. He taught us how to craft weapons from the trees. Ghilan’nain is the mother of the halla.”

“And Fen’Harel?”

“The Dread Wolf,” I reply. “He was once a member of the pantheon. Keeper Deshanna says he’s no longer considered as such by many Dalish.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s…there _is _a story.”

“But you don’t believe it?” he guesses.

I swing my head, indicating uncertainty. “Most of the time, no.”

“Why?”

“It says he was the trickster god, but I’ve heard other tales that paint him as the god of rebellion. Keeper Deshanna says that the gods used to be among us, and they would help us when we prayed to them. Then, according to her, the Dread Wolf tricked the gods and the Forgotten Ones into a parlay. He made them part ways, and then created the Veil, separating us from them forever. After that, we started aging, and our empire fell apart.”

“And you don’t believe that?”

I shrug. “A god of rebellion makes more sense to me. We have no tales of truly evil beings, and I don’t understand why Fen’Harel would be the only one.”

“What happened to him? Did he stay with the gods after he created the Veil? In the story, I mean.”

“No. The hahrens like to tell the story of how, afterwards, he hid in a corner of the world, ‘giggling madly to himself for thousands of years.’ But that’s…just a story.”

“But now Dalish use him as a curse?”

“Sure. We say things like _may the Dread Wolf never hear your steps, _or _may the Dread Wolf take you_. Stuff like that. I think it’s stupid, but…” I shrug.

“But you _do _use him as a curse.”

“Well, yeah,” I laugh, “but in the same way you say _Andraste’s ass _or _Maker’s balls_. I don’t mean it _actually _disrespectfully.”

“Your people aren’t afraid that invoking his name will summon him?”

I shrug again. “None of the gods hear us anymore. Why should he be any different?”

Varric watches me silently, his eyes thoughtful. He appears to be on the verge of replying when Cassandra approaches us breathlessly.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says. “Shall we find this Warden Blackwall?”

“I’m ready,” I nod, getting up quickly. I look around, shielding my eyes as I grab my staff. “Solas!” I call when I spot him. I wave when he looks up. “We’re ready to go!”

He nods and stands, gathering his staff and leaving his book.

“Do you intend to go to Redcliffe today?” Cassandra wonders.

“I do,” I nod.

“Very well,” she sighs. “Then we shall see what these mages have to say for themselves.”

“It’s just a conversation,” I remind her. “Like the one you tried to have with the Lord Seeker. We’ll just hear them out.”

“As you say, Herald.”

“Cassandra,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You’re killing me.”

“I will not dishonor Divine Justinia’s wishes by failing to show you the respect you deserve.”

“I’m not Andrastian. _Please, _stop using the name, especially in front of others. I get where you’re coming from, but it’s like if dozens of people started calling _you _the Herald of Mythal, okay? Please.”

She grimaces at me, looking away unhappily. Solas approaches us, and I sigh heavily at Cassandra, turning to Varric.

“Where’s Blackwall supposed to be again?” I ask.

“Should be up the hill across the lake,” he replies, running his fingers fondly over Bianca’s triggers as he checks the weapon.

“Let’s go then,” I murmur.

We make it to the lake within the hour, the sun beating down on us mercilessly. I find myself relieved that my Dalish robes afford more air passage than, say, Cassandra’s heavy plate. Even still, she appears more alert than I feel. Despite the sweat beading and rolling down her temples, she shows no sign of discomfort. I wish, again, that I had her constitution.

“There,” she says, pointing across the lake.

And her attention to detail.

Near a house on the other side of the water, I see a man in shining silver armor. His winged helmet incontrovertibly identifies him as the Grey Warden we seek.

We follow the lake north to a shallow stream and then cross. I watch the man as we go, realizing he doesn’t stand alone. Several other men wait with him, their clothing far less protective than his. He paces before them, sword and shield out, but he doesn’t appear to be threatening. Instead, he speaks with them carefully, earning nods and quick responses as he paces.

We arrive at the house, and the closer we get, the better I can hear his words.

“Remember how to carry your shields,” he instructs. “You’re not hiding; you’re _holding_. Otherwise it’s useless.”

“Blackwall?” I call, moving closer to him. I stop a few inches away, admiring the griffin on his chest plate briefly. Even the Dalish have heard the legends. “Warden Blackwall?” A thrill runs through me. I’ve always wanted to meet a Warden. After hearing so much about the Hero of Ferelden when I was a girl, I find myself giddy with anticipation.

“You’re not…How do you know my name?” he asks. “Who sent—” He glances to the left and then thrusts his shield out over me with a grunt.

I jerk back when an arrow slams into it. “Shit!”

A couple dozen men come charging out of the woods surrounding the house. “That’s it; help or stay back,” he tells me. “We’re dealing with these idiots first. Conscripts! Get ready!”

Blackwall leads the charge, throwing himself into battle with the same fearlessness Cassandra always shows. She joins him, using her shield to push a man off her quickly before she follows it up with a perfectly timed stab. I throw up a quick shield around her again, well aware that she doesn’t truly need it, and I hold it carefully as it slowly forms. I grip my staff with my right hand, my left flailing a little. I've yet to adjust to fighting and casting without it.

I’m not paying enough attention to my own surroundings, too intent on maintaining the shield around Cassandra, so I don’t see the soldier flanking me until it's too late. I try to react at the last second, but he easily dodges my instinctive swing. He tackles me to the ground, and I lose my staff in the roll, my grasp slipping. I grunt, thrusting my elbow up as hard as I can, connecting with his nose. I don't manage to do much damage, but I reach up past him to call down a bolt of lightning. Before I can complete the word, he grabs my hand and twists my wrist violently. I scream when I feel the bone snap.

“_Snow_!” Varric shouts.

I roll my hips up, throwing my shoulders and waist in one direction, reversing the tackle. I land on top of him, struggling for purchase, but the man grabs my shoulders, slamming me to the ground again. He rolls back over me, pinning me to the ground.

“Someone get to her!”

I reach for the dagger on my belt with my left hand, my right lolling uselessly and achingly. I grit my teeth and grab the handle, pulling it up sharply, but he anticipates that movement, too. He grips my left hand, yanking the dagger out of my grasp. With it, he rips my glove off. I reach up with my left fingers to call for lightning again, but he distracts me by bringing my dagger down with all his strength.

“_Herald_!” Cassandra cries.

I catch his arms with my own, screaming again when the weight of his thrust lands almost entirely on my broken wrist. My legs thrash against the ground under up as I try to knee him, but he sits on my thighs, pinning me down even more. I scramble to regain control of the situation. I wrap my left hand around his wrist, trying to pry him off, and I manage to grab the blade with my right hand before it can pierce my neck. I scream again, both at the cut as the blade drives deep into my fingers and at the ache of my broken wrist. He rips the dagger from my fingers suddenly, slicing them even more deeply. They burn in agony, but I don't have time to consider the pain when my life is still under threat. He raises both his hands over his head, preparing to use a force I can’t hope to compete with. I throw my hands up instinctively, but before he can bring the blade down, a powerful force crashes against us both. The man flies off me, and I roll a few feet, colliding with a tree trunk. I recover quickly and scramble to my knees, grabbing the dagger. Before he can find his footing, I crawl over to the man and drive the blade deep into the gap in his armor at his neck. He grunts, and I finish him off as quickly as I can, my hands shaking. I gasp and sink back, heaving as I press my back to a tree. 

“_Shit_!” I gasp, looking at my hands. They're both drenched in blood, some of it mine, some of it the man's. My fingers look awful, and my stomach churns at how he shredded my skin with the blade. I can't move my wrist, and involuntary tears prick my eyes from the leftover panic, the thrum of pounding adrenaline, and the agonizing pain.

But I'm alive. Thank the gods. That was close. 

Solas and Varric run over to me immediately.

“Thank you,” I groan, looking at Solas.

He drops beside me. “Give me your hand,” he says urgently, extending both of his.

I lift my right arm, grunting at the blinding pain. Sweat beads my forehead as tears chase each other down my cheeks.

“Careful,” Varric warns, kneeling on my other side. He thrusts a hand into his satchel, pulling out several pieces of gauze. He picks up my left hand swiftly, cleaning the blood from my skin as he looks for more wounds. 

“Is she alright?” Cassandra gasps, running over to us, her blade dripping.

“I’m fine,” I reply hoarsely through my teeth. "You don't have to do that," I add to Varric. He ignores me. 

Solas murmurs quickly, his hands glowing a soft blue. I sag in relief when the pain stops, my hand growing completely numb. He holds onto me tightly, looking up. “You shouldn’t feel anything anymore.”

“I trust you,” I gasp, preparing myself.

He tightens his grip around my hand, and I wince when he pulls my wrist out sharply to set the bone. The crack is audible and uncomfortable, but I don't feel a thing. 

Solas murmurs quickly and quietly under his breath while Varric searches my other hand anxiously. He cleans my fingers as best he can without water, and I nod at him gratefully. 

“Are you alright?” a new voice asks—the Grey Warden.

I nod. “Stupid mistake. I’m fine.”

“Who are you?” he wonders. “How do you know my name?”

I look up from Solas’ hands, eyeing the Warden as evenly as I can from way down here. “I know your name because I’m an agent of the Inquisition. We’re investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s _balls_,” he mutters. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t—no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know.”

When Varric sits back, I move my left hand to Solas’ arm gratefully as he works, my fingers pressing lightly against his wrist.

“First off,” Blackwall continues after a moment of thinking, “I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I’ll tell you: No Wardens killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t _political_.”

“I wasn’t accusing the Wardens,” I say quickly. “Not yet. I just need information. We’ve only found you. Where are the rest?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.”

“Who were they?” I wonder, gesturing to the men as they walk away. “They aren’t conscripts?”

Blackwall shakes his head. “Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I _conscripted _their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won’t need me.” Blackwall looks away briefly, closing his eyes. “Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

I nod in agreement, looking down at Solas as he works. His fingers are delicate on my wrist, and then he moves his hands back, looking up at me anxiously. I test my wrist, relieved when it appears to be healed, or as healed as Solas can make it right now. Undoubtedly it will be sore for the rest of the day once the feeling returns, but it is infinitely better. He seems to relax as well, moving to my fingers. 

“No,” I murmur softly. “You’ve done enough. You’ll drain yourself.”

He smiles at me gently, taking my hand again anyway. His expression tightens as he looks at the cuts, a flicker of anger in his eyes. He handles my fingers with care, prying them cautiously to gain better access. I wince, expecting it to hurt, but his spell worked wonders. I wince again, though, when I see my own bone through the carnage. At his movements, blood rushes up through the wounds again, dripping off my fingers to the grass below. Varric brings up several pieces of clean gauze, handing them to me with a grimace. I look away from my fingers, my stomach roiling uncomfortably. 

“Blackwall, do you have any idea where the other Wardens could have gone?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe they’ve returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt? That’s in the Anderfels, a long way north. I don’t really know,” he admits after another long moment. “Can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once.”

Solas moves his fingers, and I see my skin bloodied but healed. “Thank you, Solas,” I murmur, my voice far softer than I meant for it to come out with everyone standing around.

He looks up at me, his eyes searching mine briefly—concerned, I realize after a few seconds. He takes the gauze from me, cleaning my healed fingers gently. My cheeks flush at that, and I hope the others don't notice my reaction. His own hands are covered in my blood, and I grimace apologetically. Solas conjures a small blade of ice to dampen the gauze. He cleans my hands thoroughly and then his own before taking my right arm and pulling me up gently. Varric reaches down and retrieves my staff, offering it to me, his hand still on my arm. I smile at him as I take it.

I clean my dagger and return it to its sheath. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall,” I say, nodding at the man. “An inspiration. I suppose we’ll have to continue our search for the missing Wardens elsewhere. Thank you for your time.”

I go to step forward, and Blackwall suddenly raises his fingers to stop me. “Inquisition…agent, did you say? Hold a moment…The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these…" He hesitates. "Thinking we’re absent is as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

I grin, nodding. “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition would be honored to have you.”

“Don’t know that I’d go that far,” he grumbles with a chuckle. “But it’s still good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This Warden walks with the Inquisition. I pledge to you my blade, my shield, and my life, if it comes to it.”

“I’m honored, Warden,” I reply. “We…happen to find ourselves on the way to Redcliffe. You can feel free to join us, or you can find our Inquisition camp down the hill to the south and wait for us there. Or, of course, you can travel to Haven…lots of options, really.”

He chuckles once. “Day’s early. Think I’ll join you for a stroll, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Glad to have you with us,” I reply. “Thank you, Solas,” I murmur again when the others turn around and walk away.

Solas looks at me, his eyes dancing between mine slowly, his expression still concerned. He raises his hand to my cheek, and my heart reacts wildly when he runs his thumb gently across my cheekbone. I swallow quietly, feeling my skin change colors. He repeats the small gesture before his fingers fall away. He places his hand on my back, and I walk forward unsteadily, smiling to myself as he walks close beside me. Though he eventually removes his hand, I still feel the warmth of his touch, and I look down at my feet, grinning like an idiot once again.


	16. Pride and Desire

The better part of the morning and afternoon is spent trekking out to Redcliffe. We encounter straggler templars and many bandits along the way, as well as a rift threatening a small farmstead. Ahead, Blackwall, Cassandra, and Varric get to know one another, though the Warden is less than eager to tell his life story—understandably. Solas walks alongside me thoughtfully, seeming pleased with the weather, the company, or the walk—I’m not sure which.

The closer we get to Redcliffe, the cooler the breeze gets as it sweeps in off Lake Calenhad.

“Have you ever been to Redcliffe?” I wonder conversationally, glancing at Solas. I hear the others bickering about something half-heartedly, but I can't make it out clearly from this distance.

“Not physically,” Solas answers, his voice drawing me a step closer. “I dreamt here once, before all this. I saw a great deal of Redcliffe’s history.”

“Really?” I grin, turning to look at him. “What did you see?”

He smiles softly, parting his lips to answer. Before he can, we both look up sharply to the sounds of shouting.

“…a constant watch on that damned thing!” the soldier hollers as she stands on the hill before us. “Sound the alarm at the _first _sign of demons!”

“Shit,” I mutter, jogging ahead.

“Watch out, traveler!” the soldier calls. “The Veil’s ripped open, and Maker-knows-what could come out!”

“Stay back!” Cassandra warns her. "We will handle it!"

I see the rift near the closed gates ahead. Soldiers on the wall stare down in horror as the rift suddenly vibrates and bursts open. Terror and despair demons pour out with several wisps. Behind them, a rage demon pulls himself through, fire burning and scorching the grass in its wake.

The rage demon charges towards us. I stare, confused, as it begins to move in slow motion, its body sliding forth like a snail’s. Indeed, _all _the demons are moving languidly. Cassandra and Blackwall run past me, either unaware of or unconcerned by the aberration. One moment, they're running at a normal speed; the next, they, too, slow dramatically, affected by whatever strange magic is at work here. In the blink of an eye, everything changes again. They all move far more quickly than normal until their movements are an unclear flurry. I blink again, and the scene shifts a third time, slowing until their movements are at a more regular pace. 

I turn to Solas to find his expression as perplexed, if far more composed than mine. His hesitancy lasts only a split second, and then he grips his staff, throwing up a shield around Cassandra as she charges the rage demon.

Blackwall is at her side in an instant, his shield batting aside a wisp when it tries to attack Cassandra from behind. Solas spreads his shield to the both of them, maintaining it as skillfully as ever as he fights. A glowing green crystal forms at the end of his staff, and he launches it at a terror demon. In the blink of an eye, the demon screeches and then disappears, folding back in on itself as if forced back through the Veil to the other side. I glance at Solas again, impressed. I’ll definitely have to learn _that_ trick.

I pull my staff up and freeze the wisps in place, concentrating carefully on them. When they're still, I call down lightning, ridding us of their distraction. I use my staff to push a terror demon back as it reaches for Varric. The thing screams shrilly, the sound making us all cringe and hesitate. Blackwall is the first to recover, launching himself at the thing. His sword slices through one of its arms, and we suffer another angry screech. Cassandra joins him swiftly. I focus ice on the rage demon, and it roars in defiance, struggling against the wall. Its lower half becomes enveloped with molten rock when it tries to melt the water, sticking it to the earth below.

The rift shudders and expands as more demons slip through quickly.

“Herald!” Cassandra calls. “Close the rift! We’ll protect you!”

_“Close_ the—?” Blackwall's incredulous question is cut off by a demon. He catches its claws barely in time with his shield, staggering back a step before he lunges forward three more.

I pull my glove off quickly, stepping forward. I raise my hand, and the rift shudders and vibrates again in resistance, but it doesn’t connect with me. I lower my hand and try again, reaching for it across the field. Nothing.

Shit.

Not close enough.

I rush into the midst of the fight, using the blade at the end of my staff to slice through a shade when it notices me. I duck under a terror demon’s claws, forcing myself into a roll when it tries to grab me again. I move past the rage demon’s reach but fail to notice a freshly released fire wisp rushing at me until it slams into a glimmering wall. I look back hurriedly to see Solas’ focus now primarily on me, his hand holding the wall securely. I swallow quickly, turning back to the rift, well aware that he won’t be able to maintain it for too much longer. We’ve used too much of our mana today, him more than me. 

I raise my hand to the rift, connecting with it swiftly. I look left to see Cassandra and Blackwall moving in slow motion again. Their cries and the clash of their swords reach my ears without delay, but the action of their movements is several seconds late. Needless to say, it's very disorienting. And alarming. It's as if this rift is affecting time itself. Even as I think it, the notion seems preposterous. Magic can do many things, but affect _time_? Alter it to the point where pockets speed up while others slow down dramatically? That's...impossible. 

Mythal, it has to be impossible. There must be something else at play here. 

The rift groans in protestation, the thunderous sound of roiling energy creating a deafening crescendo. Emerald fire spits and spews like lava around my fingers. As if on cue, every demon on the field turns on me at once.

My eyes widen, and I step closer to the rift, urging it to seal more quickly, preferably _before _several angry demons rip me to ribbons. 

“Cover her!” Cassandra shouts when Blackwall stares at me.

Some idiotic part of me decides this is a good time for a joke, but before I can voice it, the rift yanks me forward several steps. Solas' barrier moves with me, the glimmering walls impossibly strong. I know he must be drained, but the wall begs to differ. 

Blackwall jumps into action after a stunned second, chasing after the demons as they converge on me.

I step to the side again, focusing all my energy on the rift. Sweat beads my forehead, and I feel the magic lacing across my bones, the unfortunately familiar ache returning with quite a vengeance. I close my eyes tightly, trusting Solas and the others with my life as I focus my will. I drop my staff and grip my wrist as the rift quivers and roars in defiance. Curling my hand into a fist, I feel for the edges of the Veil. It takes me several valuable seconds to find them. I feel a nagging sensation in the back of my mind and a tickle against my fingertips when I succeed. I grip the edges firmly and then rip my hand back, breaking the connection and pulling the door shut. The rift explodes in a brilliant green light, blinding me before it disappears. I gasp, my vision blurring from the sudden stab. I bend slightly at the waist, bringing my hand to my chest as a sweep of violent agony washes over me staggeringly. 

The demons roar in anger now that their door is sealed, coming at me with renewed vigor. I pick up my staff, gripping my left hand shakily while I try to help the others deal with the last of them. Blackwall and Cassandra step in front of me, and I back far enough away that Solas drops his barrier. I turn away from them all to quickly pull on my glove. Tears flood my eyes, but I blink them away quickly, forcing the leather up my fingers. I release a shuddering breath accompanied by a weak whine when I do it too carelessly. Glass drags up my sensitive skin, adding to the impossible pain. Cassandra, Varric, and Blackwall quickly end the rest of the demons, and as soon as the last one is down, Blackwall turns to me. He lifts his winged helmet off, staring at me, and I force myself to drop my aching hand, pretending that everything is normal. 

“Maker’s balls,” he breathes. “I-I heard the rumors, but you’re—”

“If you say the Herald of Andraste, I think she might hit you,” Varric warns.

“That was…” Blackwall just stares at me, his helmet clutched loosely in his fingers. “You’re…She’s…” 

“Oh yeah,” Varric agrees. He lifts several strands of loose hair, tucking them behind his ear as he smirks at me. "That's exactly what she is. Well said."

I swallow against the pain, forcing myself to maintain my composure. I feel my hand tremble, twitching in agony, but I do my best to ignore it. 

“What was that?” I gasp breathlessly, my voice high from the pain. I pass it off as shock. 

Solas looks anxiously at my hand, stepping to me, but I angle it away from him discreetly, certain that he must have used too much mana. All too familiar with how painful depleted energy is, I can't ask him to use his magic on me again today. 

“We don’t know what these rifts can do,” Cassandra replies uncertainly. “That one…appeared to alter time around it.”

“It felt…wrong. Different, somehow. Stronger than the others we've closed,” I admit.

Before we can properly theorize, the guard from before runs back up the hill, a dozen men at her heels.

“Maker have mercy!” she cries, sagging in relief. “It’s over! The Herald closed the rift. Open the gates!”

The shriek of metal rings in the air as the gate is lifted off the ground slowly. I follow the others, staring unseeingly at the ground for a few moments. My vision blurs after a particularly strong wave, and I flinch, holding my breath until it passes.

One of Leliana’s agents jogs up the hill towards us. He bows deeply, locating me past the others. “We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one was expecting us.”

“No one?” I repeat. “Not even—Grand Enchanter Fiona?” My voice wavers, and I clear my throat as Solas looks at me. A burst of anger rushes through me at my weakness. Get it together, Sul. 

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone,” the agent replies. “We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

My vision blurs again, and I duck my head in a nod. “Thank you.”

“Agents of the Inquisition!”

I glance up again to see an elven man in Circle robes rush up the hill to us, waving his hands. 

“My apologies!” he calls breathlessly. “Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly if—”

“There’s a magister here?” I demand, ice flooding my veins.

“Yes. Well—no, not quite yet. He should be here soon, though. In the meantime, you can speak with the former Grand Enchanter, if you like.”

“The _former _Grand Enchanter?” Cassandra repeats.

“Indeed. I must be going before the magister returns,” the elf says hurriedly. “Please come find us at the tavern! We’ll be waiting for you there. Fiona was intrigued to hear of your arrival!”

“No, wait, what do you—” I don’t get to finish the thought before he runs off as quickly as he arrived. I turn to the agent. “Can you find out what’s going on here?” I ask him. “Report back to Leliana as soon as you can.”

“Understood, Your Worship.”

Solas looks up at the sky, his expression thoughtful. “The Veil is weaker here than in Haven,” he murmurs, “and not merely weak but altered in a way I have not seen.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“We should talk to the…_former _Grand Enchanter,” Cassandra replies distractedly before he can answer. “Find out what is happening here.”

Solas glances at me, his expression worried.

“This is…weird,” I sigh, moving forward.

I hold my arm delicately at my side, careful to walk so it doesn’t jostle. Pain still jerks it every few seconds, my fingers spasming in the glove. It throbs the closer we get to Redcliffe, and I turn away when my eyes flood with tears. Several slip down, and I reach up to catch them, pretending to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I _thought _the movement was stealthy, but I realize it wasn't when Solas stops walks.

"I need a word with the Herald," he announces. 

The others glance back, Cassandra eyeing me. 

“Go on to the tavern,” I tell them, pleased when my tone comes out even, if a little low. "We'll be right behind you."

“As you say, Herald," she replies, giving us both a confused look before walking with the others. 

I weaken when they're gone, leaning against the stone wall surrounding Redcliffe village. Solas moves closer to me at once, lifting my hand.

I take it back, shaking my head. "No, you've used far too much of your—"

"Give me your hand," he says gently. "Let me help you, Suledin."

"I'm fine," I reply, aware that he knows it's a complete lie. "I don't want to drain you. It's not fair t—"

"Please, lethallin. You needn't suffer." He holds out his hands, and I can't deny the ache in my chest, desperate for relief. 

"Are you certain?"

He doesn't verbally answer. He simply extends his hands out to me further, waiting. I look at him with a swell of gratitude and pull off my glove, flinching and gasping.

Solas takes my hand gently, his fingers pressing against me carefully. Despite his tenderness, his skin feels like glass against mine, and I flinch, looking away. “Perhaps you should explain to them the pain you’re—”

“I don’t want to worry them,” I admit quietly. “It…makes them feel hopeful or whatever that I can do this. I don’t want them thinking I can’t. Especially with the Breach still open.”

He nods once, and I roll my head back to the stone wall, holding my breath to fight off a gasp at another wave of fire.

“Ir abelas, lethallin,” he whispers before beginning the spell.

Tears stream down my temples, and I shake my head angrily at myself. I open my eyes and look down at our hands.

“It’s happening more quickly now,” I murmur, watching him as he works.

He can’t respond as he murmurs softly under his breath, but his eyes find mine. Something in his expression, though it’s dark and sad, makes me feel comforted. I don’t know why.

I sag in blinding relief when the spell is finished. Solas’ warm fingers stay on mine as I catch my breath, and then his hands are gone. “I’m sorry this has happened to you,” he says quietly, watching me as I put my glove back on.

I shake my head with a sigh. “_I’m _sorry I keep bothering you with it,” I reply, standing.

“You could never bother me."

I look down. "Are you okay?" I ask. "Did the spell...take too much from you?" 

"I'm alright, lethallin. It is a simple matter; it doesn't take much."

I don't believe that for a moment. Magic powerful enough to override a mysterious mark? A mark that is somehow connected to a Breach that has torn the sky apart and is able to heal tears in the Veil? But I let the matter rest, thanking him softly as we turn to walk through the village. I try to enjoy my first time in Redcliffe. I try to catch brief glimpses of the blue lake through the buildings and the sight of the massive castle sitting on a hill over the water, looming strongly over the village; I try to hear the seagulls and think of the breeze tickling my skin and the sun warming my face. I try, but as we go, I hear snippets of conversations, fears shared quietly in whispers regarding the mages that have overtaken the village and the Tevinter magister whose very name sends ice shooting down my spine. 

We arrive at the tavern far before I'm actually ready. The others are waiting near the door, and some irrational, childish part of me wants to ask Cassandra to go first. It bids me to let her lead and do the talking while I stand behind her, hiding behind her blade. Rather than act on the foolish urge, I nod at the others and press against the door, entering the dimly lit room. 

Fiona spots us immediately and rises from her chair, stepping forward to meet us. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” she greets formally, her Orlesian accent surprised.

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting,” I reply.

She nods, her eyes searching mind. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

I frown at her, glancing at Cassandra once. “I—is this a test? We’re here because you invited us.”

Fiona’s confusion only grows.

“In Val Royeaux?” I add.

She shakes her head. “You...must be mistake. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since…before the Conclave.”

I hesitate. “No, it—it was definitely you. Who else could it have been?”

“I…I don’t know,” Fiona replies, placing a hand to her head. “Now that you say it…I feel…strange.” She frowns again, shaking her head. “Whoever or…whatever…brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.”

My heart stops, and my eyes widen. 

“An alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra repeats incredulously. “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric groans. “I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done, and I’ve got nothing.”

“H-how could you _do _this without even _speaking _to us?” I demand shrilly. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Solas steps forward once to the former grand enchanter. “I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

Fiona holds her head high. “As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

My breath rushes from me. “You—you’ve _bound _and _chained _everyone here to a-a—”

“What choice did we have?” Fiona demands. “The templar threat was immediate. If we live, we can worry about the torn Veil.”

“_No_!” I snap, glaring at her, rage coursing through me unchecked. I feel Varric and Solas look at me in open surprise. Even Cassandra seems shocked. “The _Veil _is the problem—you—you’ve _enslaved _everyone here, everyone who _trusted _you with their _lives _and their _freedom_—you—you—”

The door slams behind me, and I turn to see who has interrupted. My anger whooshes out of me, and I take a step back when I see the magister enter the room, his long red robes brushing against the floor as he walks. A tapered, blood-colored cowl rests lazily over his head, his dark eyes peering out at us curiously. My heart pounds, and I swallow.

“Welcome, my friends!” he greets, grinning widely. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“Agents of the Inquisition,” Fiona says, “allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.”

The magister stops before me, too close. I step back, my blood humming in my ears. Everything in me tightens, my mind throwing horrifying, unbidden images of the last magister I encountered.

Alexius smirks at me when I don't say anything, and he moves beside Fiona. “The southern mages are under my command,” he announces dismissively. “But you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade?” His eyes gleam, and he stares at me intently, making my skin crawl. “_Interesting_.”

I swallow again, trying to find my words, but I feel my breath coming too fast as the room closes in on me. My heart pounds erratically, and I move my foot back slowly another step towards the door.

“You are leading the mages now?” Cassandra asks after a moment of silence. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. We have need of them—great need, as I’m sure you know.”

Varric glances up at me, and I blink rapidly, struggling to maintain my composure as I part my lips to breathe. I don't dare look away from the magister, old fear keeping me on my guard.

“It is always a pleasure to meet reasonable people,” he grins, not looking away from me, either.

I swallow again loudly. “Then—then we can arrange—something?” I ask, my voice breathy and uncertain. 

Varric looks at me again, as does Solas.

“Sit with me,” the magister smiles, gesturing to a nearby table. I look at it before shooting Cassandra a wide-eyed, desperate look I know they all see. She blinks in surprise, her expression growing concerned. She moves her hand to her sword, resting it casually against the handle, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. That small gesture reminds me that I'm not alone here, and I try to calm down enough to not show my fear so plainly. “Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners,” Alexius adds, looking at me. “My son Felix, friends.”

I glance stiffly at the young man standing near us, golden robes adorning his frame. His own cowl rests absently against his back, his eyes finding mine with interest. He bows deeply at me before turning to do as he was asked.

Alexius stares at me unnervingly, and I move past the others, sitting rigidly on the edge of the chair opposite him. “I am not surprised you’re here,” he admits. “Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

I look down at the table. “Here at the Inquisition, we don’t like to think small.”

My flat tone makes the desperate joke utterly fail, but Alexius laughs anyway. “Very good. Very good. There will have to be—”

He turns his head sharply, and I look over to see his son stumble towards us unsteadily. I stand up swiftly as the man falls on me. I try to jerk back in surprise, panic gripping me, but he grips my wrists, and I feel something small slip discreetly against my right palm before he stands again.

“Felix!” Alexius gasps, reaching for him.

“My lady, I’m so sorry!” Felix says, stepping back and shaking his head. “Please forgive me.”

I clutch the note carefully, stepping back once from Alexius.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice begging as he leans over his son.

Felix nods, moving a hand to his side with a wince. “I’m fine, Father.”

“Come, I’ll get your powders. Please, excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time.” Alexius takes his son’s weight, helping him through the tavern. “Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix murmurs.

Alexius turns, his eyes finding mine with a flicker of something I don't know how to define. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.”

I nod belatedly, watching his departure warily.

They leave the tavern, and I sag against the table behind me, staring at the ground before I hold up the note.

“You alright, Snow? Looked like you saw a ghost,” Varric murmurs. 

I wave him off, opening the letter.

“Did he give you something?” he asks, stepping closer.

“It just says, ‘come to the Chantry. You are in danger.’”

“Oh, very mysterious.”

“We’ll be careful,” I mutter, “but we should...figure out what’s going on.”

_“Are_ you alright, Herald?” Cassandra wonders, her fingers still clasped around her sword handle. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head as I feel their eyes on me. “Let’s go. Oh, excuse me, Warden Blackwall. I'm sorry,” I add when I thoughtlessly walk into him.

“Apologies,” he says, quickly stepping aside.

“My fault,” I reply distractedly. I push open the door swiftly, stepping into the warm sun. I take the stairs down two at a time, breathing in lungfuls of fresh air as I head to the Chantry, a short walk away.

I don't see anything on my way, my mind reeling. Before I remember consciously making the decision, I push the doors of the small Chantry open, stopping when I hear the soft sound of magic and a staff hit the ground. The man is dressed in crisp white and grey robes that contrast with his dark skin. He swings his ebony staff around as we enter, knocking a demon aside before stabbing another with the blade at the end. He looks back at me, grinning as he pants.

“Good! You’re _finally _here. Now, be a dear and help me close this, would you?”

I rush forward, reaching for the rift while Cassandra and Blackwall launch into battle. It becomes apparent that the mage waiting for us favors fire spells. He works quickly, and the Chantry soon begins to feel like an inferno. Sweat dews my skin uncomfortably, and I blink in surprise as the others slow down to a snail's pace again before jerking into a blindingly fast motion. The man in white glances at me, making a face when he notices it, too. He hesitates when he looks at me, his eyes scanning my wrist as I remain tethered to the rift. He sets his staff down, letting the others do the work while he watches. 

When the rift explodes and seals, the man nods approvingly, wiping his forehead and dusting off his clothes.

“Fascinating,” he muses, admiring the area where the rift once stood. “How does that work, exactly?” He turns to me excitedly before laughing good-naturedly. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes!”

Despite my very real fear earlier, his charm puts me at ease, and I find myself smirking at his tone. “Who are you?”

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus,” he greets, offering a lavish bow, “most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra sighs impatiently. “Be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here!” Dorian grins, playing with his mustache. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable—as I’m sure you can imagine.”

I frown. “And you’re betraying your mentor because…?”

“Alexius _was _my mentor, meaning he’s not any longer, not for some time. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you—as if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

I pause, blinking slowly at the man. I open my mouth a couple times, dropping the thoughts both times. 

“Take your time, dear,” Dorian murmurs. “It _is _rather shocking, isn't it?”

“Are you—he’s distorting _time_?”

“That is fascinating if true,” Solas muses. “And almost certainly dangerous.”

Dorian nods. “The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down? Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is _wildly_ unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

I blank again. “You’re...you're asking me to take a lot on faith.”

Dorian frowns at me. “I _know _what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it…Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them," someone says quietly. 

I turn to see Felix approach Dorian from the back of the Chantry.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian muses. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. Thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix looks at me, stopping near Dorian. “My father’s joined a cult—Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori.’ And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

I make a face, my heart pounding. “Alexius did all that for me? And here I didn’t get him anything.”

Dorian smirks. “Try one of those fruit baskets. Everyone loves those.” He plays with his mustache again, squinting at me slightly. “This is where things get more interesting. You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He half-bows and strides past us, stopping and turning when he hits the door. “Oh, and Felix? Try not to get yourself killed.”

Felix grimaces at him. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian.” He offers me a quick glance and then departs out the back of the Chantry.

“What do we do now?” Varric wonders when we're alone.

I raise a hand to my forehead, rubbing my temples. “We’ll...head back to the outpost. I’ll write a letter to Leliana and Cullen,” I answer. “While we wait for their response, let’s see what we can do to help the Hinterlands. Might as well make sure there’s still something left once we’ve sealed the Breach.”

***

We spend a week in the Hinterlands without any word from Haven. We close rifts and take out two bandit strongholds. Solas leads us to a cave where he thinks something can help strengthen the Veil, and we rid the Hinterlands of the last remaining hostile templars.

This morning, I emerge from my tent, shocked to see _why _Leliana didn’t bother to write me back. She, Josephine, and Cullen dismount from heavy war horses, tying them up quickly.

“Suledin,” Leliana greets, walking over to me gracefully.

“Leliana,” I reply in surprise, “I—wasn’t sure you’d received our message.”

“We did,” she nods. “We came to speak with you in person. Before we left, we received word from Alexius as well. We have much to discuss, when you’re ready.”

“Aren’t you all...tired?” 

She glances back at the others. “This is too important to wait. I’ll gather Cullen, Josie, and Cassandra. Find us when you’re ready to discuss our next course of action.”

I nod. “Let me just get dressed,” I say, backing up quickly. “One moment!”

I duck into my tent quickly, dressing clumsily as I try to hurry. I pull my belt on swiftly and sheathe my dagger. By the time I’ve emerged again, I see Cassandra and Cullen arguing near a table. Leliana sighs impatiently while Josephine lays down a map between them all.

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle!” Cullen says irritably, crossing his arms obstinately. “Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go and get the templars.”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister,” Cassandra replies calmly. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine makes a face as I arrive. “The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by _name_. It’s an obvious trap!”

“Nice to know I haven’t been forgotten,” I mumble, glancing down at the maps. Blueprints of Redcliffe’s castle. I don't even bother asking where they got these.

Leliana shifts her weight impatiently. “A Tevinter magister has laid claim to a castle in Ferelden, stolen the mages out from under us, and now invites us to negotiate, and some of us _still _want to do nothing.”

“Not this again,” Josephine groans.

Cullen turns on Leliana. “Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden,” Cullen says slowly—not for the first time, I gather. “It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults. If you go in there,” he says, turning to me, “you’ll _die_, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius,” Leliana adds, “we lost the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

Josephine sighs. “Even if we _could _assault the keep, it would be for naught! An _Orlesian _Inquisition’s army _marching _into Ferelden would provoke a _war_! Our hands are tied!”

Cassandra huffs. “The magister—!”

“Has outplayed us,” Cullen finishes grimly.

I sigh heavily. “We can’t just give up. There _has _to be something we can do, _some _way into that castle. A side alley, a servant’s entrance, a sewer—_something_ Alexius has overlooked. You were right, Leliana. He’s a _foreign_ power. He doesn’t know Redcliffe like we do—like _you _do. There must be something.”

“There’s nothing that I know of that would work,” Cullen replies.

Leliana cocks her head. “Wait…” She nods, thinking, and I grin at her. “There _is_ a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family.”

“What?" Cullen says, turning to her. "I’ve looked at dozens of these maps—there’s nothing—”

“It is not on the maps, but I've traveled through it before,” Leliana replies. “It is too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

Cullen shakes his head. “Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That is why we need a distraction.” Leliana glances at me. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

Everyone looks at me, and I sigh. “Oh, okay, I see where _this_ is going,” I mutter.

Cullen nods. “Keep attention on Lavellan while we disable the magister’s defenses. It’s a gamble, but it might work.”

“Fortunately, you’ll have help," someone announces grandly.

We all turn to see Dorian striding through camp, an Inquisition agent tailing him.

I frown. “How did you...?”

“This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander,” the agent murmurs.

Dorian winks at me, sidling up to the war table. He plays with the maps, smirking to himself while Cullen glares at him.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help,” Dorian informs us confidently. “So, if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Cullen frowns at him and then looks at me. “The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We _can _still go after the templars if you’d rather. You needn’t put yourself in this situation, Lavellan.”

“We’ve been hurling ourselves headfirst into danger since I woke up in Haven. Why stop now?” I muse. “Dorian, I’d be happy to have you along. Leliana, prepare your agents. Cassandra, inform Varric and Solas of the plan. Let’s…hope this doesn't _completely _blow up in our faces, yeah?”


	17. In Hushed Whispers

I nod at the magister's guards when they open the doors at the end of the long hall. Solas, Cassandra, and Varric flank me. Cassandra's sword rings softly at her side, but she makes no effort to soften it.

The main hall is dim, candles burning low to the nubs. I try not to let that, in itself, unsettle me. The darker it is, the better our plan will work. The large fire burning on the other side of the room provides the most amount of light, silhouetting the three figures on the dais. Posted every few feet, Tevinter guards watch our approach from all the main columns leading to where Alexius sits. His eyes are fixed on me as I walk, and I make sure to hold his gaze, though everything in me itches to look away.

A studious man comes rushing down from dais, meeting me halfway to stop our progress. “The magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellan only. These others will have to remain here.”

“Where I go, they go,” I reply casually with a shrug. “If Alexius would rather converse with himself, my companions and I will happily head to Therinfal Redoubt.”

The man glares at me evenly, and then at Solas, Cassandra, and Varric in turn before he returns to me. “Very well,” he replies through a clenched jaw, giving one of the guards a significant look.

“Mm, too kind,” I murmur, moving around him slowly.

I’m careful to not look at the many Venatori lining the walls, surrounding us. Some stand hidden in the shadows, others are closer, their hands readied on their weapons as I walk to the dais. It feels like walking into a den of lions.

On a throne flanked by mabari statues that does not belong to him, Alexius sits, his leg propped on his knee disrespectfully, almost lazily. Fiona waits on the floor below the dais, her weakened posture indicative of exactly the kind of thing I fear from Tevinter: utter defeat. Felix stands beside his father, his expression carefully neutral, but I see him watch me with great interest.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” I murmur, careful to keep my fear in check this time. I was taken off-guard the first time I met the magister, and I shamed myself and my clan. I will not allow a repeat of that disgrace. 

“My Lord Magister,” the announcer calls, walking up quickly past me. “The agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Only then does Alexius rise, his eyes glued to mine as he smiles. “My friend! It’s so good to see you again.” He gestures vaguely to those standing behind me. “And your associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

Fiona looks up sharply. “Are we mages to have no voice in decided our fate?”

“Fiona,” Alexius tsks, “you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not _trust_ me with their lives, yes?” There’s a undeniable command laced within his tone.

“Yes,” I muse, “because you simply ooze trust. If the Grand Enchanter wishes to join these talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.”

Fiona glances at me uncertainly, perhaps wary of the deliberately defiant path I'm taking. “Thank you,” she nods formally.

I don’t miss the disdainful look Alexius quickly composes. He sits again, resting his head on his hand, as if bored. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

“Nothing,” I reply with a shrug. “I’m just going to take the mages and leave.”

Alexius smirks. “You are _very_ amusing, Suledin, of clan Lavellan,” he muses slowly. My heart hesitates before speeding up, but I simply cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at the man like what he said hasn't shaken me. “How do you imagine you’ll accomplish such a feat?”

“She knows everything, Father,” Felix sighs, turning to the magister on his stolen throne.

Alexius turns to him, sitting upright. “Felix," he says carefully, "what have you done?”

“I’m afraid your little trap here has failed, Alexius,” I reply indifferently. "Ah, don't be too broken up about it. It was a decent plan. In theory."

Alexius turns to me angrily, rising again with venom. He strides forward a couple steps without leaving the dais. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark,” he spits, “a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control? You are _nothing_ but a _mistake_.”

“What do you mean?” I demand, stepping forward boldly. “What was supposed to happen?”

“It was the Elder One’s,” Alexius seethes, “and you _stole _it!”

“The _Elder _One? Who is the Elder One?”

“Father, listen to yourself!” Felix cries, stepping to him. “Do you _know _what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be,” Dorian answers, finally emerging from behind the column nearest the throne.

“Dorian,” Alexius greets, his voice low and solemn. “I gave you a chance to be part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“So, that’s who you serve, then?” I ask. “The Elder One? Is _he _who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?”

“Soon,” Alexius whispers, looking at me, “he will become a _god_. He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

Silence rings through the hall in the wake of his pronouncement.

“Well,” I murmur. “Glad to know it’s nothing crazy.”

“You _can’t_ involve my people in this!” Fiona exclaims, shaken from her shock.

“Alexius,” Dorian breathes, at a loss. He steps to my side, shaking his head. His elbow brushes mine as he gestures to the magister exasperatedly. “This is exactly what you and I talked about _never _wanting to happen! _Why_ would you support this?”

Alexius turns his back on us, looking into the fire. I hear the quiet thuds behind me of the Venatori agents being disposed by Leliana’s men.

“Stop it, Father,” Felix pleads. “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No,” Alexius murmurs, looking at his son desperately. “It’s the only way, Felix! He can save you!”

Felix stares at the magister, blinking once in shock. “_Save _me?” he repeats. 

“There _is _a way,” Alexius says, his tone begging as he rushes his words. “The Elder One promised! If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix says firmly. “You need to accept that.”

The magister huffs, whipping around. “Seize them, Venatori!” Alexius commands. “The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

No one moves. Alexius looks around the hall, horrified anger replacing his calm demeanor. I glance back, too, to see the Inquisition agents standing over Venatori bodies.

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” I muse.

“You,” he seethes, “are a mistake! You _never _should have _existed_!” Alexius pulls his hand to his chest, ripping off the amulet he had around his neck. He tosses it in the air, and it hovers between us as Alexius raises a hand to it, muttering quickly. Flickers of green energy flare out from it, growing larger in seconds. 

“No!” Dorian shouts, swinging his staff through the air. The force of his magic jerks Alexius back a step. The amulet falls to the ground, and a rift tears open in the middle of the main hall. The green light blinds me, and I recoil in surprise. I raise my hand to shield my eyes, gasping at its intensity. Hands grip my waist, and then I’m falling. I cry out and land in a foot of freezing water, gasping and recoiling again in shock. I rise to my hands and knees, staring at the ground in delayed confusion. 

I look up to see Dorian standing in front of me, his clothes equally soaked. What distracts me from his look of surprise, however, is that he’s giving it to.

A massive spire of red, glowing crystal thicker than a tree trunk winds up from the floor, thrusting into the ceiling above. Around it, thinner spikes illuminate the murky room we stand in—which is most certainly not the throne room.

“Displacement,” Dorian murmurs, looking around. “Interesting. It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us…to what, the closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“We were…standing in the castle hall?” I say, my words coming out as a question. I stand up quickly, flicking my hands out in a useless effort to dry them. The stone walls around me are cracked and cold, and utterly unfamiliar. My fingers ache a little from the chill, and I dry them on my robes before crossing my arms tightly. “Where are we?”

Dorian squints at the walls. “Let’s see…if we’re still in the castle, _it _isn’t. Oh, of course! It’s not simply _where_, it’s _when_!”

I blink at him, growing even more confused. “Wha…?”

He turns to me excitedly, his eyes gleaming with understanding. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

My eyes widen. “_What_? D-did we go forwards or backwards? How far? Is that even _possible_?”

“Those are _excellent _questions. We’ll have to find out, won’t we? Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back…if we can.”

“_What_?” I say again. “_Why_ would you say it like that?”

“I’m sure it’s all alright. Don’t worry, _I’ll _protect you,” he announces with a modest sigh.

“I feel better already,” I mumble, reaching for my staff. “Shit!” I whip around, kicking the black water as I search.

“What? What's wrong?”

“Where is it?”

“Where is _what_?”

“My staff!”

Dorian looks around before giving me an apologetic look. “Mm...must’ve dropped it when I grabbed onto you—sorry about that, by the way.”

“Fenedhis! Wait, what about everyone else in the hall?” I ask quickly, looking at Dorian hurriedly. “Solas, Varric, Cassandra—where are they?”

Dorian grimaces. “I can’t say. We need to figure out where _we _are first. Then we’ll try to work out whether they came through with us. It seems likely they would have appeared in the same chamber with us, though. Mm...at any rate, it's this way.”

I sigh and follow Dorian out. My hand feels empty without my staff. I raise it to the dagger on my belt, fingering its hilt for a moment as I focus my attention on the red lyrium climbing up the walls. It looks so unnatural that it seems to force my eyes away from it before I’ve consciously decided to look elsewhere. Its energy hums in the air, offering a sickly sweet song that hurts my ears the longer I’m near it.

“Alexius _has _made a dreadful mess of the place, hasn’t he?” Dorian mutters regrettably.

“I’ve never been here before,” I admit. "Red lyrium's not the usual decor, I take it?"

Dorian chuckles.“Definitely not. The dungeons were covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs I’d ever seen. This…is not an improvement,” he adds grimly. “Mm, well, at least I know where we are now. I believe I know the way to the throne room from here.”

“That’s good,” I offer.

He sighs heavily, stopping. “It _would _be if all the doors weren’t cut off. We’ll have to turn around.” He gestures angrily at the archway before us, which is blocked entirely by a thick trunk of red lyrium. I sigh and follow him back the way we came. He takes a flight of stairs up a level, but we still find ourselves in the dungeons. Shivers raise along my arms and back, my feet and legs freezing and damp. 

“Careful with this one,” Dorian warns softly, reaching out for my hand. “Probably best we don’t touch it, mm? I imagine you’re hearing the same song I am?”

"Yep. Glad to know I'm not crazy." I take his hand, letting him help me through. I think he uses me for balance just as much as I use him, and we manage to make it unscathed to the other side of the hall.

Dorian leads us through darker part of the dungeons, and I fidget with my glove, pulling at the soft leather uncomfortably. 

“Is someone there?”

I jerk at the sound of Solas’ quiet voice, turning to it instinctively. I find him locked in a jail cell leaning against one of the cold walls weakly. He looks over at me, his expression flitting from curious to shocked, and I feel sick to my stomach.

“Solas?” I whisper, stepping closer to the cell. His irises are red, glowing vividly against his pupils. My stomach tightens again when I see a thread of red lyrium twisting through his jail cell, and I realize his eyes might be the symptom of some sort of red lyrium infection. I recall Varric's fear of it at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Is _this _what it does to people? 

“Suledin,” Solas gasps, reaching for the bars between us. “You’re alive! We saw you die!”

Dorian steps closer to the us. “The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak.” I press my fingers to the padlock of the cell, freezing it as thickly as I can. Solas moves aside when I pull my dagger out and slam the hilt against the ice. It detaches easily, flinging loudly against the stone wall, and I wrench the door open. It takes a few good tugs, and a thrill of horror rushes through me when I realize it must not have been opened for some time. Weeks? Months?

Solas steps out slowly, using the wall for balance. He seems weak, drained, and I realize that his frame is much slimmer than it was, his clothes hanging limply where they once hugged. I reach out to him, gripping his hand when he stumbles. His fingers are bony and thin against mine, freezing cold where he once was so warm.

“Can you reverse the process?” he asks, his voice thin as he looks up at Dorian. “You could return and obviate the events of the last year! It may not be too late!’

My chest tightens. The bright soul I know is not the man before me. This man is hollow, twisted, and starved, infected with some kind of red lyrium disease. His hand is weak as he steadies himself on my arm, his eyes flat when I'm so used to seeing them shine with curiosity. 

“Solas,” I gasp. “C-can I do anything for you? L-let me help you.”

“I am dying, but no matter.” My chest tightens more, though he says it indifferently. “If you can undo this, they can all be saved. But you know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. Alexius served a master: The Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. His minions assassinated Empress Celene and used the chaos to invade the south—you must remember this, Suledin," he says, taking my hand as tightly as he can to emphasize its importance. "You must prevent this future. This Elder One commands an army of demons. After you stop Alexius, you _must _be prepared.”

“Can you fight?” Dorian asks, glancing at him sympathetically. “We could use your help.”

Solas nods. “If there is any hope, any way to save them, my life is yours. This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass.”

“Solas, I’m…so sorry,” I murmur, my chest so tight it hurts to breathe.

“It is a relief to see you live, lethallin. When you died…When I _thought _you'd died...” He shakes his head, his eyes finding mine sadly. “We must stop Alexius. We must prevent this future. Do you understand everything I’ve said?”

“An army demon and Celene’s assassination,” I nod, my throat tight. “I understand.”

“Good,” he gasps in relief, reaching for my left hand. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” I say quickly, recoiling at the thought of him using such magic in his state. “Please, don’t—don't even think about that, Solas. I'm fine.”

“We should hurry,” Dorian murmurs softly.

I look at him, and he gives me such a sympathetic look that it twists the knife in me more.

“We’ll fix this,” he promises, glancing at Solas and then me again. A flicker of understanding lights his eyes, and his expression grows even sadder. "We'll fix it," he repeats. I nod, holding his eyes for a moment before he turns around. 

I follow him, going slow as Solas walks with difficulty. We don’t get very far down the hall before we hear a quiet humming, the song’s tune uneven and fading. I recognize the voice at once.

“Varric?” I gasp, lunging forward to the cell.

He looks up at me in shock, his eyes less red than Solas’ but still infected. I feel choked when I see his normally broad shoulders slim under his coat. “Andraste’s sacred knickers!” he chuckles weakly, aggravating his lungs into a hacking cough. “You’re _alive_?" he rasps, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. I catch sight of a drop of blood that he tries to hide, and I weaken again. "Where _were _you? How did you escape?” He rises to his feet, grinning at me from behind the bars.

Dorian gets to work opening the door. “We didn’t escape,” he replies. “Alexius sent us into the future by mistake.”

Varric stares at me a moment before a smirk crosses his lips. “Everything that happens to you is so _weird_!”

I laugh weakly, my chest constricting unbearably. “You’re telling me,” I gasp.

“Well? What do you think of my dead man’s look?” he wonders, raising an eyebrow at me. “I think I’m pulling it off well, if I do say so myself.”

“You’re no more dead than we are,” Dorian replies quickly, wrenching the bars open.

“Mm, I hope not. The not-dying version of this red lyrium stuff? Way worse. Just saying. Chuckles, good to see you again.”

Dorian gestures down the hall. “We get to Alexius, and I just _might _be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really.”

Varric shakes his head, offering another coughing laugh. “You and I have very different definitions of the word _simple_. You want to take on Alexius, I’m in. Let’s go.” He coughs again, bending at the waist. His lungs rattle wetly, and I wring my hands, watching him cough something up and spit it aside. "Ugh, sorry," he groans. 

“Are you alright, Varric?” I murmur, my voice high with the idiotic question. Of course he's not alright. None of this is alright. 

He reaches down and sweeps a dusty Bianca off the floor. “Oh yeah, Snow. I'm way better now,” he breathes, running his hands down the neck of the weapon. “I think they kept her there just to torture me. With Bianca back, I’m golden. Let’s go find that Tevinter bastard and fix all this crap.”

I follow behind Dorian, a slow determination edging into my heart. We _will _fix this. We have to. This can't be our reality. 

On the next level of jail cells, I hear someone else, someone whispering quietly, the hoarse voice barely audible.

“‘The Light…shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next…for she who trusts in the Maker…fire is her water…’”

“Cassandra,” I breathe, kneeling next to her, the bars separating us. She's the thinnest of them all, her broad cheekbones sticking from her gaunt cheeks sharply. Her eyes find mine slowly, and I realize with dismay that she's so much sicker than the others. Her eyes glow fiercely red, and she stares at me for a moment like she doesn't recognize me. I realize the difference at once; a thick, winding trunk of red lyrium broke into her cell, its song piercing even from my distance. Her skin is sallow, and I see threads of brilliant red lyrium lining the whites of her eyes, spreading from her irises.

Dorian moves past me, wrenching the doors open. I reach inside for her, helping her stand. Her eyes grow larger, and her jaw drops open then she truly sees me. 

“You’ve returned to us!” she gasps, her voice thin. “Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance? Maker forgive me,” she says hurriedly, grasping my hand as tight as she can. I weaken when her grip is a fraction of the power she once commanded. “I failed you. I failed everyone.”

“No,” I reply firmly. "You could never, Cassandra."

“The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“No, Cassandra. It is her,” Solas says quietly. “She is alive.”

“This…cannot be,” she murmurs, her voice a question. “We...saw you die in the throne room. We saw what Alexius did to you—how could you survive?”

“Y-you’re wounded,” I say, my voice tight as I steady her. “Let me help you—”

“There is nothing to be done. I’ll be with Maker soon.”

Dorian comes closer to us. “Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able return to the present.”

A swell of gratitude so powerful that it brings tears to my eyes floods my chest. I look up at him, feeling admiration and respect overwhelm me. Despite not knowing any of us, he is so patient, explaining the situation three times without even a flicker of vexation. Even more, he looks at us all with sympathetic eyes when it would be so easy to disassociate himself. Dorian glances at me, seeing my expression. He looks down, his growing apologetic.

“Go back in time?” Cassandra gasps. “Then…Can you make it so that none of this ever took place?”

“Yes,” I reply firmly, looking at her as evenly as I can. “We _will _go back.”

“Alexius’ master…after you died, we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards—demons—nothing could stop them—nothing—”

“I-I’m so sorry, Cassandra. I should have been there for you.”

“You’re here now,” she answers.

“This is hardly your fault,” Dorian reminds me softly.

I look at him desperately, wringing my hands. “I know you already said you would, but please, Dorian...please help me fix this."

“I will,” he promises, stubborn edge in his eyes. I realize that, though I don't know him at all, though he's a mage from Tevinter who formerly worked with the madman that did this to us...I trust him. 

“Alexius locked himself in the throne room,” Cassandra says. “That’s where we’ll find him.”

“Good thing I know the way back,” Dorian muses in response, leading the way.

Solas picks up his pace to walk alongside me and Dorian. “Tell me truly, Suledin, how is your hand?” he asks quietly.

I close my eyes tightly, reaching over to take his hand. “It’s fine, Solas, it doesn't hurt...Don’t—don’t worry about that right now.”

“If it starts to hurt, I can—”

“No,” I reply, smiling at him, though it hurts to do so. “Save your strength.” I search his reddened eyes, realizing exactly how much I’ve grown to care for him. For all of them. It anguishes me to see them so far gone.

I keep my hold on Solas’ hand, pulling it to my stomach as we walk. His grip is weak as he laces his fingers through mine. I cannot accept that this is a reality. This can't be a fixed future. The Elder One, a demon army, and Empress Celene's assassination. We have to prevent those things from coming to pass.

“It’s good to see you again, Seeker,” Varric murmurs behind us.

“And you, Varric,” she replies. “I must admit, I missed looking down and having all that chest hair thrown in my face.”

Varric releases a strangled laugh that leads to more coughing. My chest tightens again at the sound. “Always knew you liked it.”

Cassandra replies with her signature disgusted noise, as if she regrets saying anything, and I look at Dorian desperately, tightening my hand on Solas’. Dorian nods at me, patting my shoulder once in understanding. 

“Curious there aren’t any guards,” he mumbles.

“Why should there be?” Cassandra replies. “Everyone down here is dead. They will likely be with the magister.”

Something catches my eye, and I jerk to a stop. “_Fiona_?” I exclaim when I recognize the woman—or what _used _to be a woman. I rush to her cell, but Solas pulls me away swiftly, his fingers tight on me.

“The lyrium,” he warns, urging me another step back. 

I stare at the grand enchanter inside. Red crystals run through Fiona’s body, trapping her against the walls around her. Her head lifts from the stone—the only part of her that she can move, the only part not encased with the foul mineral. Her skin hums with red energy, her eyes glowing orbs inside her skull.

“That voice—” she whispers, her eyes staring blindly ahead. “I know that voice—”

“I-I’m with the Inquisition.”

“The Herald? You’re—alive?” she gasps. “I saw you—disappear…into the rift.”

“Wh-what’s happened to you?” I breathe, looking at her mutilated body, twisted and warped.

“Red lyrium…it’s a disease. The longer…you’re near it…eventually…you become this. Then they mine…your corpse for more.”

I raise my gloved hand, covering my mouth.

“Can you tell us the date?” Dorian asks quickly. “It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere,” Fiona rasps. “9:42…Dragon.”

“9:4_2_?” Dorian repeats. “Then we’ve missed an entire year!”

“It only took a year to do all this?” I gasp, my heart pounding.

“We have to get back.”

“Please,” Fiona cries. “Stop this…from happening. Alexius…serves the Elder One…more powerful than…the Maker. No one…challenges him…and lives.”

Dorian looks at me. “Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here. If it still exists, I can use it to open the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe.”

“Good,” Fiona rasps.

“I said _maybe_. It might also turn is into paste.”

“You…_must_…try. Your spymaster…Leliana…She is here. Find her. Quickly. Before the Elder One…learns you’re here.”

“C-can I do anything, Fiona?” I whisper.

“J-just…prevent this,” she begs. “Stop Alexius. Never...should have trusted him.”

I nod loosely, looking at Dorian. He rubs my shoulder once and then moves forward. He looks horrified as we go, the expression deepening the more red crystals we pass.

“If red lyrium is an infection…Maker, why is it coming out of the walls?” he demands. “Never mind,” he quickly adds. “Don’t…answer that. Here. The Barracks. We’ll be able to—”

He stops when he opens the door, and I peer past him to see dozens of bodies strewn across the floor. So many bear the Inquisition seal that I feel sick to my stomach again. I raise my hand to my mouth, my head pounding with a migraine.

“This can’t be happening,” I murmur.

“It isn’t,” Dorian assures me. “We’ll—fix this. I’ll fix this. I will.”

It alarms me how much he sounds like he’s convincing himself as well as me. I follow him up a flight of stairs. We’re rounding a corner when I hear another voice from inside a closed room.

“_Tell me_ how Lavellan knew about the sacrifice at the Temple.”

“_Never_.”

“Leliana!” I say urgently. I try the door, but it’s locked tight.

“Let me, Snow,” Varric says quickly, bending to the doorknob.

“There’s no use to this defiance, little bird,” the man within shouts.

A loud slap followed by a low grunt makes me wring my hands. “Varric, hurry—”

“I’m trying—”

“There’s no one left for you to protect,” the man continues.

“You’re wasting your breath,” Leliana spits.

Another thud, and she cries out.

“_Talk_! The Elder One demands answers.”

Leliana laughs bitterly. “He’ll get used to disappointment.”

He hits her again, harder than before from the sound she makes.

“Move,” I say urgently. “Varric—move—”

“You _will _break!” the man shouts.

“I will _die _first,” Leliana retorts.

I thrust my hand out, slamming it against the wood of the door. It bursts open so hard that it jerks off its hinges and lands with a crash. My eyes widen when I see Leliana—beautiful Leliana—chained to the ceiling. Her figure is bent and broken, black and blue. Her face is skin and bones, her eyes hollow and bloodshot, her vibrant hair limp and lifeless.

She looks up at me, a ghost of her former self.

“Or you will,” she adds with a tight smile. She lifts her legs up to her torturer when he turns around. He cries out and struggles, but she tightens her legs around his neck, jerking them to the left. He collapses to the floor heavily. 

I run forward, tripping over him as I yank the keys off his belt.

“You’re alive,” Leliana breathes as I reach for her wrist cuffs.

She slumps to once side when her left hand is free. When her right falls, she nearly collapses. I catch her, and she pushes away from me gently, walking forward on her own.

“Leliana…”

“Do you have weapons?” she asks. I nod at her. “Good,” she replies, walking forward. She winces as she reaches for a bow on the ground. “The magister’s probably in his chambers.”

I stare at her. “You need healing. Let me h—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“You…aren’t even curious how we got here?” Dorian asks, watching her in awe as she tests the bow string.

“No.”

He hesitates before telling her anyway. “Alexius…sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be.”

“I’m…so sorry,” I breathe.

“We have to reverse his spell,” Dorian continues. “If we can get back to our present time—”

Leliana stares at him coldly, her expression almost flat but for the flicker of anger in her eyes. “And mages always wonder why people fear them.”

I look down, stung. 

“No one should have this power,” she whispers.

“It’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian agrees. “Before the Breach, nothing we did—”

“Enough!” Leliana orders with a silencing glare. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world _suffered_. It was real.”

I stare at her, my chest tightening again. The nightmare she was put through—her chains and wounds, her sallow skin and hollow eyes.

_Mythal, please._

I follow Leliana numbly, everything in me tight with prayer.

_ Give me a second chance, Mythal. Please. Please help me, just this once. _

“What happened while we were away?” Dorian wonders quietly after a few moments.

“Stop talking,” Leliana orders.

“I’m just asking for information.”

“No. You’re talking to fill silence. Nothing happened that you want to hear.”

Dorian sighs. “We need to find Alexius. I’m sure he’ll be in the nicer part of the castle…if there is one.”

“Open the gate,” Leliana replies curtly. “We have to go through the courtyard. The path ahead is blocked.”

Dorian and I move swiftly to the gears on either end of the gate. I glance over at him, and he nods when he’s ready. I grip the wheel, forcing it to spin. It’s difficult, making me wonder how long it’s been sealed shut. Dorian shares my struggle, but we manage to wrench the wheels into place and pull the gate up enough to walk under. Leliana leads us through the cavern into the underground docks, around a staircase, and up a side passage. She reaches the door at the end and pushes it open, stepping into the courtyard. I follow her, glancing up to see the time.

I freeze in horror, cold terror rushing over me. My lips part as my heart stops. Dorian follows my gaze, reacting similarly.

“Holy—”

“The Breach—” I exclaim, my voice shaking. “It’s—it’s—”

“_Everywhere_,” Dorian gasps.

Thick boulders hover impossibly in the air, pieces of the castle pulled up into the Breach. A green haze replaces the sky, the light shining a murky, swampy color over us. In the distance, I see the fabled Black City, a silhouette against the horizon. I shake my head, raising my hands to my mouth. This can't be real. 

“The Elder One and his Venatori,” Cassandra says, unsurprised. “They are the ones who opened the Breach.”

“The Veil is shattered,” Solas adds quietly. “There is no boundary now between the world and the Fade.”

“This is—” I can’t finish the thought.

“We don’t have time to stop,” Leliana says to me, her voice a touch softer.

I look at her, my eyes wide with panic, and then I look back up at the hooded green of the sky.

“It’s atrocious,” Dorian mumbles. “_Green_? How…tacky.” His joke falls flat from his fear.

“Mythal, ma ghilana," I whisper. 

“We’ll fix it," Dorian replies, understanding my meaning if not my words. 

“Let’s go,” Leliana says, her voice harder with him than me. “We’re almost there.”

“How much _damage_ did Alexius’ spell do?” Dorian wonders. 

Leliana glances at him. “Rifts tore apart all of southern Thedas, starting here. But whether that’s his doing or the Breach, who can say?”

I follow her numbly. It’s horrifying to do, but I force myself to see everything, to commit it to memory.

This is what happens if we fail.

_Ma ghilana, Mythal. Ir abelas—_

“Are you ready?” Leliana asks, turning to me.

I look down at her to realize we stand before the castle hall door.

I nod, and she pushes it open. She moves inside, disappearing to the right while Dorian and I march through the center. At the end, a man in magister robes stands over a lit brazier, his back to us—Alexius. Huddled on the ground at his feet sits a twitching creature, balanced on its haunches. It is twisted and gnarled, its hands curved into claws, its face hidden from sight by a long hood. For a startling second, I think it’s a despair demon, but it doesn’t attack us. It looks vaguely like the depictions of darkspawn Keeper Deshanna showed me, only it seems to shy away from us rather than try to assault. 

I want to feel angry as I stare at Alexius’ back, but all I can summon is overwhelming grief. “How could you do this?” I demand, the heat gone from my voice.

Alexius doesn’t reply at first, but he doesn’t seem surprised to hear us. “I knew you would appear again,” he says softly. “Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My _final_ failure.”

“Was it worth is?” Dorian asks emotionally. “Everything you did to the world? To _yourself_?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Alexius replies, looking down, his back still to us. “All we can do is wait for the end.”

“The end?” I repeat.

Alexius chuckles, the sound hollow and coarse. “The irony that you should appear _now_, of all the possibilities…All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death…There is nothing else. The Elder One comes,” he says slowly. “For me, for you…for us all.”

Leliana reappears, moving up to the dais quickly. She grabs the hunched figure, pulling the creature to its feet. It cries out in alarm as she holds a blade to its throat, her dead eyes on Alexius, her expression colder and fiercer than I’ve ever seen.

“Felix!” he cries out, reaching for the creature.

“That’s _Felix_?” Dorian gasps, horrified. “Maker’s breath, Alexius,_ what have you done_?”

“It was the only way! He would have died! I _saved _him! Please!” Alexius begs Leliana, both his hands outstretched. “Don’t hurt my son! I’ll do anything—anything you ask—” 

“Give us the amulet,” I tell him.

“Let him go, and I _swear _you’ll get what you want!”

Leliana’s expression hardens. “I want the world back.”

She jerks her dagger across Felix’s throat. Alexius screams as his son slumps to the ground. He swings his staff, knocking Leliana off the dais. She cracks her head on the stone below, moving weakly. Alexius screams again, throwing us all back with a powerful spell. Dorian lands on me, pinning me to the ground. He tries to move, but Alexius cries out again and again, keeping the force of his magic strong and domineering. 

“Well,” Dorian grunts, inches from my face. “This is awkward. Good to meet you, by the way.”

“You’re crushing me,” I rasp, struggling to breathe.

“Well, it was hardly my idea.”

“Can’t you roll over?”

“I happen to be shielding you from his spell—you’re welcome. And don’t you think I’ve tried?”

“I can’t breathe—”

Alexius screams again, and the gust of wind comes from another direction, pulling us to him. Dorian flips off me, and we skid across the floor roughly. I hit the stair first stair hard, looking up to see Dorian hanging onto a column for dear life. I kick off the stairs as powerfully as I can, reaching up to grip my own column. My fingers glance off the side of it, and I scratch as I sail past it. A hand reaches out for me, and I look up to Cassandra. She cries out, gripping a column with one arm and me with the other.

“Alexius, stop!” Dorian shouts. “You’re breaking the room apart! You’ll kill us all!”

The magister roars again. I look down to see a cyclone spinning wildly in the center of the room, threatening to pull us all into it. Stones break loose from the walls, pulled into its vortex. Leliana grips the railing beside her as we all dangle from one column or another. I look to see the others safe, gasping for air as the room closes in on us.

Alexius grips his son’s body, crying as he rocks back and forth. Shame and sorrow wash over me in a second, pushing out all my anger towards him. A powerful understanding floods me, making me understand the man when I'd rather paint him as a simple villain. Everything he did—just to save his child.

Alexius takes his son more firmly in his arms and then releases the railing.

“Alexius, no!” Dorian shouts.

The father and son slide off the ground, pulled up into the whirling cyclone. I look away, gasping. The winds get more powerful, the storm spinning wildly out of control. I rip my glove off with my teeth, reaching out for the storm with my left hand as green lightning strikes at the ground. My wrist aches and burns, and I reach out further as Cassandra holds onto my right arm tightly. I close my eyes, focusing all my energy on reversing the spin enough to break apart the storm.

“Together!” Dorian calls.

I look to see him reach for it, too. I nod firmly, breathing out slowly and calmly. I close my eyes again, concentrating hard. The words are lost in the cacophony of the room, but I feel the magic pulled from me regardless. Slowly, the winds begin to die down. As suddenly as it started, the storm dissipates. I hit the ground hard, stone biting into my hip as Cassandra grunts behind me. I grip the column, dragging myself to my feet before I help Cassandra up. Dorian walks over to Alexius’ body, strewn limply across the floor.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he,” Dorian murmurs sadly, kneeling by the man. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications…He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” I murmur, swallowing thickly. “This Alexius was too far gone…but we can still save the one in our time.”

Dorian nods in response, holding up his hand. “The amulet,” he says, opening his fist. “It’s the same one he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief.” Dorian stands. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to—”

“An _hour_?” Leliana repeats incredulously. “That’s impossible! You _must _go _now_!”

The earth rumbles and shakes beneath out feet. Dorian catches my wrist when I almost fall. Leliana looks up in horror; the fear in her always stoic expression turns me to ice. A creature screeches loudly outside the castle walls. I look up at one of the holes in the roof to see something dark flash by the sky in a blink.

“The Elder One,” Leliana breathes.

“You cannot stay here!” Solas exclaims desperately. He looks at Cassandra, the fear in his eyes making my heart stop. Cassandra glances away before returning to him and nodding firmly. “We’ll hold the outer door,” Solas says to Leliana urgently. “When they get past us, it’ll be your turn.”

“Hear that, Nightingale?” Varric grins. “A little competition. They won’t get past me.”

“No!” I shout. “I won't allow that! I won’t sacrifice you—any of you!”

“Look at us,” Leliana says, her voice soft. “We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.”

Solas finds my eyes, and I watch, tortured, as he, Varric, and Cassandra jog to the outer door.

“Cast your spell,” Leliana breathes, offering a difficult smile. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

“Leliana—”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You can change this.”

She walks to the door, closing it quickly behind the others. Solas turns to me one last time, offering a soft smile that makes my vision blur.

Leliana moves into the center of the room, readying her bow.

“Stay close to me,” Dorian says, pulling me closer. “We only get one shot at this. When the spell begins, I don’t care what happens—do _not _leave my side.”

I nod shakily, moving my hand to his arm. I grip it tightly, my breaths bursting from me strangled.

Dorian holds the amulet out. A roar from outside startles me, and I grip his arm more tightly, my heart pounding as I hear the fighting beyond the doors. Dorian speaks swiftly, and the amulet rises in his hand, green energy swirling around it.

Leliana holds her bow up, pulling an arrow back. “Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.”

The handle rattles when something hits it. Someone cries out—Varric—

The doors burst open suddenly. Venatori and terror demons break through. A demon throws something—a mangled body—_Solas—_

Leliana’s arrows fly across the room. “Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side.”

Venatori collapse by the door, and terror demons fade away into nothingness under Leliana. I watch in tortured awe, tears streaming down my cheeks as I grip Dorian’s arm too tight. He murmurs the spell faster, closing his eyes in concentration.

An arrow flies through the open door, and Leliana cries out when it pierces her shoulder. I jerk, watching her stumble backwards. She raises her bow again, loosing arrows quickly. Another arrow flies into her stomach, and I step forward.

Dorian pulls me back, holding my hand tightly as he begins to shout the spell. I watch in agony as Leliana fights. Solas’ body lies inert by the doors, and I see Cassandra’s just outside. Leliana’s blood runs down her legs, pooling thickly beneath her. Venatori close in on her, and my chest tightens as she shields us. She swings her bow, kicking an agent off her while strangling the other. She rolls across another’s back, landing quickly to stab two men with the same arrow, wrenching it from one’s throat to hurl it at another’s eye.

A blackened rift opens from the amulet, growing steadily. Dorian’s words move so swiftly that I can’t understand them anymore. A terror demon screeches as another arrow flies into Leliana’s hip. She grunts, staggering forward. She breaks it off, launching herself at another Venatori quickly. A sob bursts through my chest as I watch her go. I’ve never seen anyone so strong in my life.

She swings her bow around, pushing a Venatori to the ground and stabbing him. She staggers once, holding her chest as she gasps for air. A Venatori leans over her, and she grabs an arrow, stabbing him through the neck swiftly before taking it back out and pulling it through her bow string. It flies across the room, killing another agent. One of the Venatori lifts her from the ground, and she struggles against him, fighting to free herself. He holds her still as a terror demon rushes at her. Her eyes narrow, and she growls, struggling defiantly as the rift grows before us. I stare in horror as the terror demon lifts his clawed fingers, bringing them down swiftly to—

Dorian grips my hand tighter, pulling me with him, and then we’re falling.

I hit the ground hard on my back, gasping. Dorian releases my hand, sitting up as he pants. He looks at me, and I meet his eyes for a moment before I look around. Relief brings blinding tears to my eyes, and I choke back a sob. Solas, Cassandra, and Varric look at us in confusion, glancing to where we must have been standing a second ago.

I scramble up off the floor, rushing to them. Perhaps ill-advisedly, I launch myself at Solas, relief outweighing any sense of decency or leadership stoicism.

He has to step back once when I run into him too hard, and his hand appears uncertainly on my back. “Suledin?”

I hug him tightly, squeezing him probably painfully. I turn to Cassandra, pulling her to me quickly.

“Uh…Herald?”

I grin through my tears, turning to Varric, enveloping him in an equally tight hug.

“Snow?”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Alexius,” Dorian mutters.

I turn, wiping my eyes to see Alexius fall to his knees. I return to Dorian, clearing my throat. “Thank you,” I murmur, all logic fleeing me again. Before I can stop myself, I hug him, too, earning an amused huff. He wraps an arm around my back, patting my shoulder, and then I step aside to look at Alexius.

I clear my throat a second time, trying to regain my composure. “Gereon Alexius, by the order of the Inquisition, I demand that you set aside all claim to Redcliffe and the freed mages."

“You've won,” Alexius says quietly, his eyes on the floor. “There is no point extending this charade.” He looks at his son, tortured. “Felix,” he whispers.

His son kneels beside him. “It’s going to be alright, Father.”

“You’ll die,” Alexius cries.

“Everyone dies.”

Alexius hangs his head as Inquisition agents approach him. He doesn’t fight them. I watch grimly as he stands, allowing them to cuff him. Tears slip down his cheeks and then mine, and he closes his eyes, walking with them from the castle hall. Felix remains beside him, moving his hand to his father’s shoulder.

“Well,” Dorian sighs. “Glad that’s over with.”

The doors at the end of the hall burst open, and two columns of armed and armored soldiers march in, bearing the sigil of some royal house.

“Or not.”

A blond man walks in, his hands clasped behind his back as he moves quickly between the soldiers. Right beside him, an elegant woman folds her hands before her, approaching us with a displeased expression.

“Grand Enchanter,” the man greets unhappily. “We’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.”

“Your…Majesties,” Fiona murmurs shakily, stepping forward.

I glance at Dorian questioningly. “King Alistair and Queen Anora,” he whispers to me.

“_Oh_,” I muse. “Oh…oh no…”

“Exactly,” Dorian sighs. “This…probably won’t be good.”

Queen Anora glances at the Grand Enchanter. “When we offered the mages sanctuary,” she says, her voice reverberating off the walls powerfully, “we did _not _give them the right to drive our people from their homes.”

“King Alistair, Queen Anora,” Fiona says weakly, “I assure you we never intended—”

The queen silences her with a look. “In light of your actions, good intentions are no longer enough.”

The king nods in agreement. “You and your followers have worn out your welcome. Leave Ferelden, or we’ll be forced to make you leave.”

Dorian hums. “Harsh,” he whispers.

“But…” Fiona weakens. “We have _hundreds _who need protection! Where will we go?”

I clear my throat softly. “Perhaps I should point out, we did _come _here for mages…Might be…useful information to everyone here…”

Dorian smirks at me.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona demands, still finding the energy to glare at me warily.

I scoff, offended. “Uh, better than you got with Alexius and better than being _exiled_.”

“I suggest conscripting them,” Cassandra says quickly. “They’ve proven what they’ll do, given too much freedom.”

“Cassandra,” I groan.

“I’ve known a lot of mages,” Varric mumbles. “They can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions…but still loyal.”

Solas looks at me, and I meet his eyes, realizing I value his opinion more than I care to admit. “They have lost all possible supporters,” he murmurs. “The Inquisition is their only remaining chance for freedom.” It confirms my own opinion, and I look back at the grand enchanter.

Fiona sighs. “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

I fold my hands behind my back, completely prepared for Cassandra’s response. “Grand Enchanter, we would be honored to have you and your people fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.”

Cassandra turns on me, her expression exasperated and angry. “We will discuss this later.”

Fiona gives me a surprised look. “I’ll…pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise, Herald.”

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas,” I remind everyone, glancing at Cassandra. “We cannot afford to be divided now.” I look at Fiona imploringly. “We _can’t _fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support.”

“It’s a generous offer,” King Alistair agrees. “I doubt you’re going to get a better one from us.”

Fiona’s eyes grow heartbroken as she regards the king. She bows her head, looking at me. “We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven.”

“Inquisition agents will escort you through the Hinterlands,” I add. “To ensure your safety against remaining templars and bandits.”

Fiona bows. “Thank you, my lady. The Breach will be closed.” She smiles at me weakly. “You will not regret giving us this chance.”

“Herald,” King Alister greets formally.

“Uh—” My eyes widen. “Y-your—Kingliness? Is that...right? My lord? Your _Highness?”_

He smirks. “You know, you remind me of a very dear friend.” He nods his head again. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Your…Grace?” I nod, bowing my head. “Your Grace,” I add, bowing to Queen Anora, too.

She gives me a mildly amused smile, nodding to me in turn. The couple move back the way they came, the soldiers following and surrounding them.

I relax, frowning at my idiotic comments. Never met a king or queen before. And now we know why. “To Haven, then,” I murmur, glancing at Solas. Relief sweeps through me again at seeing them all alive and unharmed. I admire the color of his eyes, glad to see them clear of the sickly red glow.

“We’d better get moving,” Cassandra adds.

“I’ve never been so happy to see you so mad at me, Cassandra,” I murmur.

She makes a disgusted noise, stalking out.

“Dorian?” I murmur.

“May as well come along. To get you to Haven, at least.”

I grin and nod. “Excellent. Come along, then. I need a drink."


	18. All That Remains

That night, we make a rather conspicuous camp on the cliffs. Hundreds of mages have joined us, some merely children caught up in this war. Their eyes are frightened and far too old for their ages. I regret what they’ve undoubtedly seen, the hate and fear they’ve faced for something so wildly out of their control. I try to make them laugh when we all have dinner together. Some laugh and giggle at my stories and jokes. Others stare soulfully into the fire, their food going untouched.

When everyone begins heading off to bed, I walk through the camp, searching for Solas. I find him near the edge of camp, overlooking the valley below us. His eyes are on the Breach, his hands folded behind his back. He meets my eyes, angling towards me when I stop close beside him.

“So, we have gained the mages,” Solas murmurs. “_Excellent. _They should be able to seal the Breach.”

I nod, letting my arm brush against his as I fold them across my chest.

“You are _certain _you experienced time travel?” he wonders, looking at me. I realize he and Dorian must have discussed it already. “Could it have been an illusion? A trick of the Fade?”

“As…crazy as it seems,” I chuckle weakly, “yes, I’m certain.”

Solas shakes his head, his eyes distant. “What an amazing gift. It is vital the Inquisition succeed, to avoid the future you witnessed.”

I frown. “How much did Dorian tell you?”

“A great deal.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, appraising Solas. “I’m surprised you’re not more alarmed. Most people would have trouble wrapping their mind around the concept.”

Solas smirks. “I am not most people.”

“You most certainly are not,” I agree with a smile.

He glances down at me, his expression amused. “If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss—”

I laugh too loudly, covering my mouth to muffle the sound.

Solas grins at me. “Magical surprises, I can handle.”

I laugh again, moving closer to him. In a brazen moment, I reach out to hug his arm, my heart pounding at the move. I glance up nervously to see Solas smile softly at the valley, and I take it as a good sign.

My smile fades slowly. “How much, exactly, did Dorian tell you?”

“He was rather forthcoming.”

“You all…died…for _me_,” I whisper.

“And I’m sure we would all do it again,” he murmurs without hesitation.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want you to,” I reply quickly.

Solas looks down at me, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “You are…” He hesitates, breathing out softly rather than finish the thought.

I don’t press him to continue. I simply tighten my arms around his and rest my head against his shoulder. When he doesn’t shift away, I close my eyes, breathing in slowly.

“You should ready yourself,” he murmurs softly.

“For?”

“This…_Elder One_. You have now interfered with his plans twice, once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood is unlikely to ignore such an affront.”

I swallow thickly. “Guess I better start practicing my dance moves.”

“I’m serious,” Solas murmurs, his head turning towards mine.

“I know,” I sigh.

“I would…rather not see you hurt.”

I close my eyes again, breathing out steadily. “I’ll be ready. We’ll close the Breach, and then we’ll deal with this old guy.”

Solas breathes out a soft laugh. “Can you take anything seriously?”

“I tried once,” I murmur. “It felt weird.”

Solas chuckles softly again, moving his free hand up to mine. I glance down at the jawbone necklace he wears and then close my eyes once more. They jerk open when I recall that horrible future, and I sigh quietly, focusing on the almost inaudible sound of his breathing and the gentle sweep of his thumb against my fingers.

***

Hours after we return to Haven, I head into the Chantry to find Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine arguing. I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes. Gee, I wonder what this is about. 

“…not a matter for debate,” Cullen says. “There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!”

Josephine frowns at him. “If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst!”

“What were you thinking,” Cullen demands, turning his glare on me, “turning the mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

“Okay, uh, first of all,” I mutter, “hey, it’s good to see you, too, Cullen; thanks, I’m glad I didn’t die, either. Secondly, we _need _them to close the Breach. Putting aside our obviously different opinions about the forced imprisonment of my fellow mages, it’s not going to _work _if we make enemies of them.”

Cullen sighs. “I know we need them for the Breach…but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!”

I breathe out slowly. “I respect your experience as a templar, I do, Cullen, which is why I’m hoping you can respect _my _experience as a mage. They have lost everything; all they need is a chance to prove themselves. More than that, mages are far more likely to resort to blood magic and demons if they feel _trapped_. If we lock them in cages and throw away the key until Breach day comes, they don’t help us, and we’ll wind up with a bigger mess on our hands. I _offered _them the alliance because it was the right thing to do. Moreover, because we cannot afford to _alienate _the very people we need to help us.”

“This is—a very complicated issue,” Cullen frowns. “And I _do _respect you, Herald. All I’m saying is that it should have been discussed with us first before you made the decision yourself. You were there, Seeker. Why didn’t you intervene?”

Cassandra sighs and glances at me. “While I may not completely agree with the decision…I support it.”

I blink in surprise, turning to face her. 

“The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks!” I turn to see Dorian, grinning as he leans against a wall casually. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Cassandra glances at him and then returns to Cullen. “Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

I nod. “I’ve seen what happens if we fail…Let’s make sure we don’t.”

“Agreed.”

Leliana moves through the open war room door, approaching us as she reads over a document. “We should look into the things you saw in this dark future you—”

I cut her off by launching myself at her, hugging her tightly. She makes a startled noise, giving a surprised laugh.

I pull back, looking at her. “Leliana, you are the most badass person I have ever known in my entire _life_.”

She frowns, laughing confusedly. “Thank you?”

“You are a _warrior_. Sorry. Continue.”

She gives me an amused smile, her eyebrows twitching. “Ah, yes—we—need to look into what you experienced in this dark future. The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Dorian snorts. “Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises! Chaos for everyone!”

“One battle at a time,” Cullen says. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let us take this to the war room.” Cullen looks at me, his expression softening. “Join us,” he murmurs. “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

Warmth floods my chest, and I smile. “Well, there goes my nap.”

He smirks.

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” Josephine nods, grinning at me as she goes.

“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian decides, “but I would like to see this Breach up close…if you don’t mind.”

I smile widely. “Then you’re…staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

My grin spreads, and he seems pleased by my reaction. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with—future or present.”

Dorian laughs. “_Excellent _choice,” he agrees with a bow. “But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?”

I chuckle and nod. Dorian gives me a winsome smile in return.

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit,” Cullen informs us. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”


	19. In Your Heart Shall Burn

We spend days planning. Soldiers erect trebuchets outside the walls of Haven in case of a demon invasion. Mages prepare for the upcoming feat, sharing lyrium warily with the former templars already in our ranks. Cullen, Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and I fall into the habit of taking our meals in the war room. Everyone bickers about the best way to handle the situation. Leliana always offers subtle approaches while Cullen tries to convince everyone head-on attacks are far more effective. Josephine, ever the diplomat, suggests counter-solutions to their arguments, struggling to find common ground. Cassandra looms over us heatedly, trying to force everyone into agreeing through sheer willpower alone. I spend most of the time quietly watching—oftentimes, I’m amused by the circular arguments. The other half, my mind splits into a migraine until I force my voice to be heard above the others, demanding a break for the night.

When we_ do_ break from the war council, everyone separates to their own activities. Cassandra continues training by herself; Cullen seeks out the soldiers, the templar in him on guard when he passes by our mages, to my vexation. Josephine retreats to her office, always writing some letter while Leliana retires to her own tent, dropping the curtains for a few moments of peace. Through the light of her lantern, I can see her always hard at work at her desk, pouring over scrolls. With my scarce free time, I usually seek out one of the others. Most frequently, it’s Solas—we sit together in his cabin or sometimes by the lake, talking quietly. One of my fonder nights in Haven was spent with him studying the stars; he knew countless constellations, and each of their stories, and I played with his fingers, listening intently with an ever-present smile. Sometimes, I find Varric, and we drink with Sera, Iron Bull, and Blackwall in the tavern until I’m too emotionally drained to think of anything other than whether I should have another ale or just go to bed.

Slowly, the plan comes together until we know for certain that we’re ready.

The morning we begin the march to the Breach, the snow eases off, providing us with a clear path. It still takes us hours to travel. When we walk through the remains of the Temple, a hushed silence falls over the mages. Everyone looks around at the destruction. Though the bodies have been removed and burned or buried, the crater is still a horrifying reminder of why we’re all here.

The Breach is another matter entirely. Thought it’s stopped spewing poisonous energies, it still affects the world around it. Clouds hug its perimeter, forming an unnatural barrier between its green haze and the rest of the sky. Rocks hover in the air, the magic around the Breach continuing to affect gravity. The closer we get, the more my hand begins to hurt. Solas and Cassandra walk close by my side, both solemn, both admiring the horrifying beauty of the tear in the Veil.

I gasp when my hand spasms, jerking me forward a bit, and I glance up at the sky. My glove glows a brilliant green, reacting strongly to the Breach’s proximity. I take the glove off, tucking it into my belt.

Solas looks at me, his expression so worried and sympathetic that I realize, with a slow dread, that this is will most likely hurt more than anything has yet. I grit my teeth, staring ahead as I tighten my fingers into a fist. The mages walk behind us, their footsteps unifying in an orderly march that gives me strength. They surround the perimeter, spreading out evenly around the Breach in rows. Their expressions turn to shock as they see it for the first time up close. I head down into the crater with Solas and Cassandra. Cullen and Leliana stay above, directing the mages. Several come down to stand behind us in the crater, amongst them Dorian and Vivienne. I look at Dorian, and he offers me an encouraging wink and smile that I return shakily.

I turn back to the Breach, my heart pounding and my hand aching while the others prepare themselves.

Lyrium is passed around to hundreds of hands, and I close my eyes, feeling the air resonate with their combined power.

“Are you alright?” Solas murmurs softly, standing directly beside me.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous? I’ll look like an _idiot _if this doesn’t work.”

Solas offers a small smile. “You can do this, lethallin.”

I breathe out slowly. “If you say so.”

“Are you ready?”

I take another deep breath. “Now or never, I suppose.”

Solas turns and nods at Cassandra. He touches my shoulder once, his fingers brushing against my skin through the slits in my armor, offering more encouragement. I nod again as he steps away towards Cassandra.

“Mages!” she shouts to get their attention.

“Focus past the Herald!” Solas calls. “Let her will draw from you!”

I breathe unevenly, my heart pounding erratically. I step forward once, feeling the Breach’s energy try to push me back like it knows exactly when I intend to do. I plant my feet stubbornly with each step, forcing it to accept me.

The Breach flares, green energy spewing out, writhing in the air in protestation. I raise my hand, feeling the magic singe and crack along my bones. My fingers shake as I move forward again, my skin turning to glass. The Breach bursts open suddenly, knocking me back at step. I hear Solas call to the mages, instructing them. His voice calms me, and I move forward again. I hear hundreds of staffs hit the ground, and I glance to see them all kneel in unison, bowing their heads in concentration. I close my eyes as I feel their energy converge and surge through me, mixing and intertwining with mine. I breathe out steadily, focusing on its soft song. It feels strange, having so many people's mana join my own, like swimming in a sea with hundreds of different currents, pushing and pulling me gently. They guide me in the the same direction, but I feel each one tugging at me; some of the connections are perfect, combining and swelling with my own magic flawlessly, harmonies in perfect sync. Others are more aggressive, urging me forward faster than I'm ready. I push ahead, each step bringing me closer.

The Breach groans and flares wildly until I’m bathed in its green light. I stop when I feel I’m close enough, taking another steadying breath. I thrust my hand up in the air, my fingers shaking as they flash an even more brilliant green. The pain blurs my vision and makes my hand shake more as I connect with the Breach. I grab my wrist with my right hand, keeping it in place when the Breach tries to push me back again.

Magic flows in me, past me, and through me, swirling around me ceaselessly. I close my eyes, focusing intently on its song. I grit my teeth, accepting the flow as I concentrate on the Breach instead of the pain. The whine of the tear in the Veil hurts my ears. The sound builds so loud than it shakes the ground beneath my feet and deafens me. A sound is pulled from my lips, lost in the cacophony. The green light grows brighter and brighter until I’m blinded and deafened. I try to feel for the edges, like I have with the rifts, but the Breach is so much more massive that it takes me a long time to find the walls. I picture them as carefully as I can, recalling Solas' words on how intent will matter more here than with the others. He instructed me to picture the edges, to imagine gripping them, to see the so-called doorway close, and then to yank it shut, though he worded it much more eloquently. I try to follow his advice, my arm quaking with the effort. Finally, I find the edges. I take hold of them as tightly as I can, and then I rip my hand away, gasping in agony. A small scream bursts through me before I can catch it, but it's enveloped by the Breach. There's a moment of pure, eerie silence, a single moment of weightlessness, and then the Breach explodes. The force whips me back several feet. I hit the ground hard and roll a few times before catching myself.

Hundreds of startled cries emanate around the ruins of the Temple, and I glance over to see everyone flattened by the explosion. I gasp as my hand sears. I get to my knees, holding my wrist, and I tighten it into a shaking fist. I look up to see Cassandra rise quickly, pushing through the mages to me. She helps me to my feet, turning her gaze to the sky.

“Maker,” she breathes, a wide smile spreading across her face. “You did it.”

I look up, too. Relief surges through me so powerfully that it staggers me, making me briefly forget about the pain. My eyes flood, and I wipe them quickly to see the sky free from the Breach. It's sealed, thank the gods; the only remainder is a faint green glimmer scarring the sky in its absence. The clouds maintain a tint of green, but even that is quickly fading.

The mages behind us suddenly erupt in a waterfall of cheers. I turn to see them, spinning in a slow circle. I grin through my tears and laugh giddily in their excitement as they shout and laugh and hug each other. I stagger forward once, and Solas steadies me, gripping my left hand carefully. I nod senselessly, laughing through my tears.

“Well done, lethallin,” he smiles.

“Fenedhis,” I chuckle. 

Wordlessly, Solas takes my hand more securely, murmuring his spell as I watch the mages. Their shouts begin to take shape, focusing on a name—my name, I realize with shock and awe. Mixtures of _Herald _and _Lavellan _threaten to deafen me, and Cassandra turns to me with another broad smile. She touches my shoulder, and tears continue to leak down my cheeks in greater volume as I quickly become overwhelmed by it all. The excitement of the crowd is contagious, and I find myself clutching Solas’ arm as he works, my heart pounding erratically.

“It’s over,” Cassandra breathes.

I close my eyes, grinning so wide it hurts. I find Solas’ eyes again and hug him suddenly when he’s finished with the spell. He hesitates, but then his arms wind around me, and I laugh giddily against him. I pull back and then hug Cassandra, too, amused when she pats my back like she’s not sure how to respond to hugs. I look over at Dorian, and he grins at me, nodding once as the mages jostle him in their celebration.

I look up once more, staring at the faint green glimmer in the sky. “Thank you, Mythal,” I whisper, grinning from ear to ear.

***

We return to Haven to find the village bright with their own celebration. Campfires have turned into bonfires with people singing and dancing and drinking around their edges. Varric grins at me as we walk through the front gates. He pats my shoulder roughly as Bull thrusts a mug into my hand. I laugh at them and allow them to pull me along. I share a drink with them, and then disentangle myself from the festivities. The same people who, just three days ago, were arguing and fighting hang on each other and offer drinks with wide grins.

I stand apart from it, watching with a quiet smile. Varric is down with the others, talking loudly over the music. Whatever story he’s telling has everyone doubled over with laughter. Sera is drinking three dwarves under a table while Josephine watches with a mildly horrified expression. Leliana whispers something to her that makes her laugh and throw her head back with a clap. Iron Bull and Krem sit with the rest of the Chargers, grinning and laughing, too. As I watch, Sera plops down beside Blackwall, spilling her own drink, which makes her giggle loudly enough for me to hear from here. Cullen stands near the front gates, his hands resting on his pommel while he talks with several guards seriously, gesturing to the gates and a couple of the trebuchets beyond them. I suppose the commander finds his own ways to celebrate a job well done. I search for Solas, but I don’t spot him anywhere. I’m looking for Cassandra when I hear her walk up behind me.

I glance to her as she stops beside me, folding her hands behind her back. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” she murmurs, pleased. “The Breach is sealed.”

I close my eyes briefly with a small smile. “I may need you to repeat that a couple times a day for the next, oh I don't know, month or two?”

She smirks at me. “We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my stomach. “It was hardly just me.”

“True,” she allows, “but that won’t stop everyone who was there from telling the tale of who single-handedly sealed the Breach.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible—”

“Just enjoy the moment,” she insists. “You are worse with praise than I am.”

That makes me laugh. “Okay, okay, I give up.”

“You did well,” she adds. “When we first met, I could not have known how much we would come to—” She frowns, stepping forward.

“What?” I say, following her gaze to the mountains far from Haven. In the darkness, it looks like the trees are moving down the hill, slipping slowly down the bank.

My stomach sinks. Not the trees.

Alarms sound out across Haven from the walls, bells chiming so loudly that they shake the ground beneath our feet.

“Forces approaching!” Cullen shouts. “To arms!”

Several people scream as a quick panic rumbles across the village. Refugees run, retreating back to the Chantry, stumbling and tripping over each other. Cullen yells out orders at the Inquisition soldiers who rally near him. Cassandra grips her sword, pulling it out with a ring of steel.

“What is—we must get to the gates!” she exclaims, jumping down off the ledge.

I reach for my staff, following her down the steep edge. We jog over to where several of the others are waiting around the commander.

“Cullen?” Cassandra says, stopping before him.

“One watch guard reporting,” Cullen responds quickly. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks.

“None.”

“_None_?” she repeats incredulously.

Something slams against the doors to Haven, jostling them. Feet disappear from under the gap, and then fire flares beyond the door again, though the flames don't touch it.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” a soft voice exclaims from the other side.

I frown, marching down the few steps to the doors. Cullen and Cassandra follow me quickly. The Inquisition agent by the door sees me and pulls it open swiftly. Countless bodies lie strewn across the path. A Venatori agent stalks towards me confidently. Before I can react, a knife jolts through his armor. He gasps, fingers flailing around the protruding blade before he falls. Behind him is a thin, pale boy no more than twenty. He looks up at me from under a large, long hat that obstructs most his face, but I see his eyes enough to recognize his urgency.

“I’m Cole!” the boy says quickly. “I came to warn you, to help!” He steps closer to me, extending a hand imploringly. Cullen steps forward to stop him, and I grip his arm quickly, admiring him when he listens. “People are coming to hurt you!” Cole continues, and then he glances sideways uncomfortably. “You…probably already know that—”

“What is this?” I ask quickly. “Who’s coming?”

“The templars come to kill you.”

I look at Cullen, appalled.

“The templars?” he repeats, looking at me, too. “Is _this _the Order’s response to our alliance with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The red templars went to the Elder One,” Cole says, and I whip my head to him again. “You know him,” he continues. “He knows you. You took his mages. There—” He points across the mountains. It’s too dark for me to see, but I catch a glimpse of something far too tall to be even a Qunari looming over hundreds of soldiers.

“The Elder One,” Cullen mutters.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole murmurs, his tone sending a shiver down my spine.

"_Red _templars?" I repeat, swallowing thickly. "W-what is a _red _templar?"

Cullen shakes his head, uncertain. 

"They sound wrong," Cole answers. "A different kind of lyrium."

My jaw drops as my eyes widen. "I...are you saying th-they use _red lyrium_?" I demand. 

"They are very strong and very wrong."

“Cullen,” I say quickly, turning to the commander again. “Give me a plan—anything.”

“Haven is no fortress,” he replies, his eyes locked on the horde fast approaching. “If we are to withstand this monster, we _must _control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” He looks at me once, and I nod firmly. He turns back to Haven, to the soldiers and the crowds gathering near the gates. “Mages!” he shouts, rallying them as he raises his sword. “You have sanction to engage them. They will not make it easy! Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives, for all of us!”

The soldiers and mages call back a response as Varric, Cassandra, Blackwall, Solas, and Dorian push through the scrambling crowd. Solas comes to me first, moving a hand to my back as he looks over the horde. His eyes find the abnormally tall figure in the distance, and his expression tightens. 

“What do we do?” Cassandra asks breathlessly.

I look back at her. “We need to keep the trebuchets clear so the men can fire. Cullen says we need to control the battle.” My heart hammers at the words. I've never fought in a battle. I suppose there's a...first time for everything, as they say. 

“We’re with you, Herald.”

I nod quickly, glancing at Solas briefly before I turn and lead us to the closest trebuchet. Already, the first waves of these 'red templars' are trying to dismantle it. They turn when we arrive, and I hesitate, horrified. Red lyrium stabs through their breastplates, lacing their arms as their eyes glow through the slits their helmets. I don’t have the time to consider the possibilities as I stop and cast a protection spell over Cassandra. She rushes past me, launching into battle as readily as always with Blackwall a step behind her. 

I hear Cullen shouting for the gates to be closed. Through the chaos, I hear Bull and Krem, too, calling calmly to the refugees and villagers to shepherd them to the Chantry. I glance back briefly to see Cullen lead a platoon of soldiers out of Haven, waving them to various weak points around the walls. Looking at them, I see what I've never noticed before, noting every flaw in the hastily built fortifications. Haven isn't ready for this; we didn't expect _this_.

Cullen shouts orders quickly, rallying the men again before he plants himself before Haven’s doors with several guards. I see up on the hill several dozen men, women, and children scrambling into the Chantry for shelter, sisters and mothers waving them in before sealing the doors. Bull and Krem organize their Chargers, setting up around the Chantry to keep it guarded—a last line of defense.

Dorian and Solas flank me, and Varric moves around the edge of the trebuchet, keeping good pressure on the templars. Cassandra and Blackwall work together, clearing the path with a clash of shields and swords to make way for the Inquisition soldiers. Dorian’s fire spells ward off anyone from approaching us. He raises twin fire walls on the thickest paths, blocking templars from coming any closer. I spin my staff quickly, keeping my left hand well away as I focus on electricity to stun and take down our attackers. Solas works beside me, casting protections and raising shields faster than ever.

Sweat beads my forehead despite the cold weather as we fight, heat rolling off the fire walls thickly enough to melt the snow down to the dirt. Anger at the templars’ audacity to do this—tonight of all times—offers me strength, fueling my magic powerfully.

We clear one trebuchet and move on to the next, Cassandra and Blackwall fighting tirelessly side by side. With each trebuchet we clear, more Inquisition soldiers pour into the field to arm and ready them. They release projectiles at the approaching army, but it simply isn’t enough. There are far too many on their way. Soon, we’ll be overrun.

The last trebuchet is abandoned. Inquisition soldiers lay dead in the wake of a red templar attack. The bastards are still standing over their bodies. Cassandra and Blackwall charge forward once more while the others set up a good perimeter. I glance at Solas and Dorian quickly before running through the fighting. I drop my staff to turn the trebuchet, angling it at a mountainside near the marching army. That will at least give us a chance.

I grip the handle, forcing the trebuchet to spin slowly on its axis. Gods, it's heavier than I thought. The others cover me deftly. As they cut down the last man, I pant, pleased with the trebuchet’s trajectory.

“Hit the switch!” Varric calls, pointing to it when I fumble to find it.

I hope down off the stairs and kick it quickly, watching the arm swing up and over, hurling a massive boulder away from us quickly.

Varric runs up beside me breathlessly, watching as it collides with the mountainside with a loud crash. The boulder slides back down the snow, gaining momentum. An avalanche chases it, snow shaken loose as it rushes down the slope as fast as a roaring river. I watch, panting, as the snow crashes into the army beneath, burying a decent portion of it. The other half gets trapped on the other side, and I bend over, resting my hands on my knees as I breathe.

Varric pats my shoulder and grins as the Inquisition soldiers roar behind us in victory.

“Shit, that was—”

“_Herald_!” Cassandra exclaims. 

Blackwall collides with me, tackling me to the ground. We roll off the ledge, falling in a heap as Varric lands beside us. Seconds later, the trebuchet above us bursts into flames, and I stare up in horror at the dragon that caused the explosion. Unnatural grey skin covers ripped, damaged wings that are so tattered they shouldn't be able to fly. Glowing red eyes stare down at us as it soars overhead, blotting out the moon in its path.

Crushing helplessness paralyzes me for several seconds as I stare, breathless.

I stand up quickly, pulling Varric and Blackwall to their feet. “Everyone to the gates!” I call. “Fall back!”

Cassandra turns and shouts my order again, louder. Soldiers abandon their posts at the trebuchets, racing back to Haven quickly. Cullen stands at the gates, waving them all in. I fall back, checking quickly to see everyone made it before I follow them. Cullen slams the doors closed behind me.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry!” he orders. “It’s the only building that might hold against that…that beast!” He turns back to me. “At this point…just make them work for it.”

He jogs up the steps, diverting to grab a wounded soldier. Bull comes down past him, waving me over. "Boss, we got villagers trapped in some of these buildings." I look around to see that the dragon hit more than just the trebuchet. Dozens of homes are ablaze, the telltale sound of wood cracking and collapsing. "Several of my men are out looking, but we have t—"

"Wait, wait, hear that?" Varric says, holding up a hand. 

I hesitate, detecting a man’s dull cry for help. It’s faint, muffled through the—

“I’ve got ‘im!” Blackwall calls, charging the house. He kicks the door in, and I watch as he enters. The roof collapses as a fire spreads across the walls, and I jerk forward a step before I see him emerge again, supporting the weight of a coughing man. The man groans and nods, thanking him before staggering off to the Chantry.

“Do a lap,” I call quickly, backing up. “Make sure everyone’s safe! Spread out! Check everywhere! Go to the Chantry when you’re finished!”

Everyone breaks up, calling for survivors and checking houses. I burst through the flaming door of the tavern to find Krem trying to free an elven waitress and the tavern owner out from under a pillar. I jam my staff under it, helping Krem lift it up quickly. The owner helps the elven servant out carefully, and they both thank me before running to the Chantry. I send Krem with them, and he keeps his shield at the ready, escorting them swiftly. 

“Hey, Sul!” Dorian shouts. “Little help!”

I rush up the steps beside the tavern to Solas’ cabin. I see Dorian hovering over a woman near an out-of-control fire.

“They’re gonna blow,” he warns, and I see dozens of barrels of oil right in the path of the fire.

“Oh shit—”

“Help me with a shield!”

I race to him, falling on my knees in time to expand his shield to include the unconscious apothecary owner by the woman. The explosion deafens me, taking Solas’ cabin with it. The shield rebukes the fire, and I gasp under its weight, pushing it up higher when I worry I’ll weaken. When the flames die down enough, we drop the shield. Dorian throws the man over his shoulder, and I help the woman to her feet.

“Take them,” I call, urging the woman to move with Dorian. “Now!” I add when he hesitates.

I turn around looking for everyone else. Cassandra comes running up the hill with a soldier slumped over her shoulder, moving past me quickly. Varric helps a child and a woman across the courtyard, ushering them inside. I wave him to safety quickly when he hesitates. Bull runs up with a couple shaken, ashen kids in one arm and their unconscious mother slung over his other shoulder.

Roderick joins me, waving in a couple soldiers as they make for the Chantry. “Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!” he gasps. I turn to see him clutching his stomach, blood slipping through his fingers at an alarming rate.

“Are you alright?” I ask quickly, reaching for him.

He nods, waving me off as he leans against the door frame.

“That’s everyone!” Cullen shouts.

“What about Blackwall?” I call, searching.

“Already in.”

“Solas?”

“Got here just before you! They’re all safe, come _in_!”

I turn quickly with a last glance around Haven. Cullen slams the door behind me, locking it swiftly. Everyone is packed into the Chantry, huddled in groups. Solas, Varric, Cassandra, Dorian, and Blackwall stand nearby. Bull and Krem lean over the unconscious mother, Krem tipping her head back and breathing air into her lungs. Vivienne rushes over, moving him back. She drops to her knees, pressing against the mother's chest. Her fingers give a soft, pale glow, and then the mother coughs and opens her eyes. She sits up swiftly, grabbing at her two wailing children and hugging them close. At the back, I see Leliana directing a few soldiers. Josephine watches in horror, her eyes wide. Roderick stumbles forward, and Cole catches him quickly, guiding him to a chair.

I come closer, kneeling down and wincing at the blood rushing through his fingers.

“He tried to stop a templar,” Cole explains. “The blade went deep, but there's nothing you can do. He’s going to die.”

“What a…charming boy,” Roderick rasps.

“Herald,” Cullen calls softly, jogging to me. I stand up to face him. “Our position is not good.” Solas comes to my side, moving his hand to my back almost thoughtlessly. Cassandra and Varric move to my other side. Cullen keeps his attention on me and Cassandra. “That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

I close my eyes briefly, giving a long sigh.

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole murmurs. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it _looks_ like,” Cullen replies quickly. “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill _everyone _in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole says, his childlike tone indicating that the concept is ridiculous. “He only wants the Herald.”

I frown. “What? Why?”

“He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll kill them anyway. I don’t like him,” Cole adds with a sigh.

Cullen gapes at him. “You don’t _like_—” He shakes his head, dropping that. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchet, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun,” I reply. “To hit the enemy, we’d _bury _Haven.”

Cullen gives me a quiet look. “We’re dying,” he admits. “But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

I release a quiet breath, looking at Solas, Cassandra, Varric—my friends.

Cole twists around, looking down the hall. “Yes, that,” he whispers to Roderick who stares at him blankly. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” Roderick whispers hoarsely through bloodied teeth. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’ve made the Summer Pilgrimage, as I have…The people _can _escape,” he says, standing with a groan. “She must have shown me…Andraste must have shown me so I could—tell you—”

“What do you mean, Roderick?” I ask.

“It was _whim _that I walked the path,” he gasps. “I did not mean to start; it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…I don’t know, Herald…If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You _could be more…”

“What about it, Cullen?” I wonder hurriedly. “Will it work?”

“Possibly,” Cullen nods. “If he can show us the path.”

“Good. Then take everyone and go. I’ll distract the dragon. I’m good at distracting dragons.”

“What of your escape?”

I miss a beat before I grin. “I always come up with something. Improvisation is my specialty.”

Cullen’s expression darkens. “Perhaps you will surprise it,” he offers quietly. “Find a way. We’ll set off an arrow once we’re clear. Hold them off until you see that, and then bring that mountain down.” He turns to everyone else. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick! We have a path! The Herald will buy us time!”

Cole takes the chancellor’s arm, supporting his weight.

“Herald,” Roderick gasps quickly, reaching for me. I offer my hand, gripping his carefully. “If you were meant for this, if the _Inquisition _was meant for this...oh, I pray for you.”

I nod at him solemnly, and Cole drags him forward.

I close my eyes briefly before turning around. The hard part.

“Go with Cullen,” I tell them firmly.

“Not gonna happen, Snow,” Varric says immediately.

“Not a chance,” Dorian agrees.

Solas looks at me softly, his answer clear in his eyes as his hand remains on my back.

“Please,” I say. “I don’t want you out there with me. It’s too dangerous. Please, go with Cullen, get to safe—”

“Here I though you knew us all better than that by now,” Varric chides, raising an eyebrow.

“Cassandra,” I implore. “They’ll need—”

“They’ll need their Herald,” she finishes. “And we’ll make sure they have her.”

I close my eyes. “There’s no point in _all _of us dying out there—”

“Then let’s make sure we don’t,” Dorian muses. “I, for one, still need to try your southern wine. I hear it’s disgusting.”

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, looking at them all.

“What, so _you _can get all the credit?” Varric snorts. “Not on your life.”

My vision blurs, and I nod. Solas takes my hand, and I squeeze it tightly. “Okay,” I breathe. “Let’s go make some noise.”


	20. You Have Brought Sin to Heaven

We burst through the Chantry doors, slamming them closed behind us. I pull my staff up, casting a quick protection spell on Cassandra as she rushes past me, like she always does. She gives a great battle cry, her sword crashing against a red templar's helmet. He falls to his knees, and she quickly kills him, raising her shield to block an arrow. Inspired, I move forward, planting my feet as the others flank me. Cassandra is a powerhouse, calling enemies to her and running them through like they’re her practice dummies.

Red templars are everywhere, and we do everything we can to get their attention. I thrust a fireball into the air that explodes loudly, drawing more towards us. If they realize what we're doing, they don't let on. We fight forward, moving slowly and thoroughly to give the others plenty of time to organize an escape. The templars mercifully ignore the Chantry and focus on us. I guess Cole was right; I'm the target. 

We get stuck on the stairs. Enemies pour in from the gates and through a hole they blew, surrounding us quickly. Sweat clings to my skin as I whip my staff around and slam it to the ground hard. The earth rumbles beneath our feet, creating a small fissure. It’s not enough to threaten the integrity of Haven, but it _is _enough to knock the templars off balance. Cassandra strikes quickly, her blade thrusting into one templar while her shield knocks another down. She kicks a third when he gets close to me, bringing him to his knees before her dripping blade finds the weakness in his armor. 

A hand suddenly grips my arm, pulling me back several steps. I glance at Dorian in time to see a barrage of arrows clatter against the stairs where I was mere seconds ago.

“Thanks,” I gasp.

He smirks as he refocuses on the battlefield. We continue working slowly, fighting out way forward through the mass of templars. I don’t see the dragon anymore, but I figure it can’t have gone far. I don't particularly look forward to that reunion. By the time we make it to the only remaining trebuchet, I'm exhausted and drained and covered in someone else's blood. 

“We’ll cover you!” Cassandra calls to me. “Turn it around!”

I race ahead, dropping my staff carelessly as I run up the steps to free my hands. I grip the wheel, jerking it with a grunt when it sticks. I move as quickly as I can, but it's once again heavier than I expected. A shimmering wall envelopes me, and I glance back as I pull the wheel to see Solas’ hand holding it while his staff works ceaselessly. I pick up my speed, turning the trebuchet as fast as I can. The wood groans in quiet protest, rotating unwillingly on its iron hinges. Red templars pour through the field, surrounding the others, but Dorian swings his staff, and a large fire wall suddenly cuts them off from the other templars. Varric shoots through the flames, killing several of them instantly. Cassandra dives through the fire, using her shield to create a door for herself, and then I hear her battle cry again as she crashes against several templars, knocking them all back. 

I breathe out a weighted sigh of relief when the trebuchet is aimed at the mountain over Haven. I look up in time to see a black flash blot out the moon again. I step backwards, running off the steps. I tense immediately, realizing we have to get it away from the trebuchet before it destroys our only chance. 

“Move!” I shout, waving my hands at the others. “Get back! Go! I’m right behind you!”

I wait to make sure they're leaving, that they won't notice, and then I stop. Someone has to pull the trebuchet. I watch them run, praying to Mythal that they won't turn around until it's too late. Dragon fire cuts me off from them, sealing my fate with a large wall roaring between us. _Please, Mythal. _I watch through the flames as they disappear around the gates, but the gods are not with me today. Solas glances back to me, and then he jerks to a stop, his wide eyes finding mine. The others do, too, and my chest tightens when they all look back at me, horror filling their expressions. I watch them a moment, waving for them to keep going, but they don't. They talk quickly with each other, trying to figure a way to me, I think. Cassandra marches forward a few steps before Varric pulls her back roughly, pointing above me. It's all the warning I get. 

The dragon roars again, and the next blast knocks me off my feet. My head slams against the stone below me. I gasp as my vision swims dizzyingly. Something catches my eye, and I look blearily to my left to see a figure walk through the flames. Fire licks up the creature's cloak, but it doesn’t catch. I frown languidly, uncertain I can trust my eyes as the figure grows closer.

I sit up, trying to focus, though my mind reels. My eyes widen when I see the creature's chest past his cloak. If he was once a man, he isn't any longer. Skin is spread thinly, broken across a myriad of ribs that contain a bloody red mass I can only assume is the creature’s heart. His eyes find me, his lips curled into a permanent snarl by the Blight consuming his charred skin. The infection spreads through him evenly, and it has turned him into a monster, a twisted and cursed darkspawn. Half a cowl drapes down his face while red lyrium stabs through the other side of his head unnaturally, gleaming a glowing red in the firelight.

I rise to my feet as he marches towards me, backing up a step. His dragon lands behind me, shaking the ground beneath my feet. I catch myself before I fall. The dragon roars, extending its wings out terrifyingly.

_Enough._

I start dramatically and grit my teeth when the creature's voice worms its way through my thoughts; I recognize it as the same voice from the Temple. The creature's mouth doesn't move, but I hear him perfectly, the low, crackling sound of his voice burrowing into my mind and curling uncomfortably through my chest. 

The dragon brings down its wings, shifting its weight to block me in as it waits patiently. I turn to the darkspawn warily, waiting as well. I walk slowly around the edge of the flames, as if searching for a way to escape. In reality, I want to keep him here as long as possible. He mirrors me, staying opposite me. He moves jerkily, but I can't even see his feet touch the ground past his ebony robes. I move until my back is to the trebuchet and then watch the creature, peripherally looking for the arrow to let me know the others are safe. 

_Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken, no more. _

I swallow loudly, alarmed and on edge as his voice continues to invade my thoughts, its deep tone unnatural and terrifying. My heart pounds erratically, but I make an honest effort to not reveal how scared I am. I just need to hold out a little longer. 

“Who are you?” I demand. “Why are you doing this?”

_Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. _He points at me, extending a clawed hand. _You will kneel._

I remember Leliana’s strength, and I stand upright. “I don't think so,” I reply evenly.

_You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. _The darkspawn holds up his left hand, revealing an object. I frown at it, seeing intricate tracings and indentations; it appears far too elegant for such a creature. It vibrates in his hand, flaring with red energy. _I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now._

He extends his right hand to me as his orb glows more brightly. My hand flares suddenly, and I’m jerked forward to my knees. I cry out as my hand vibrates and shakes, green energy spewing from it as angrily as the Breach. I grasp my wrist, tears flooding my eyes as the pain wracks up and down my arm. My bones burn, and I feel an invisible blade slip between my skin and muscle, as though he were flaying my hand. I search for the wounds I feel, but I see nothing physical to explain the agony. 

_It is your fault, ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. _

He steps closer, tightening his magical hold on my hand.

A scream is ripped from me before I can bite it back. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I turn my head up to glare at the creature, gripping my wrist. He tightens his hold again, making my vision swim with agony.

_I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens._

He balls his clawed hand into a fist, and I scream again. My hand explodes in light, mixtures of red and green swirling around my fingers blindingly. I grit my teeth as the pain lances up my arm to my shoulder. I jerk my right hand away from my wrist when my fingers feel like they’re carving into my skin with daggers.

_And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall._

“What is this thing meant to do?” I demand through my teeth, my voice wavering. 

_It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it._

He marches forward, grabbing my wrist. He yanks me up off the ground, pulling me by my aching hand up to his height, my boots dangling half a dozen feet off the earth. I scream at the pain, gripping my arm as I clench my jaw. He stares at my hand, studying it. Up close, he's even more horrifying. His skin is stretched abhorrently over his cheekbones, ripped in some places where the skin grew too thin. His eyelids appear to have melted away, his eyeballs reddened and angry as he stares at my hand. His jawbone pokes through his skin, white and charred in some places as his voice continues to effortlessly find its way into my thoughts. 

_I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption—dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused—no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty. _

His eyes flare angrily, and he throws me across the field. I slam against the trebuchet, crying out when I feel something in my chest crack. I collapse to the ground in a heap, gasping as I cling to my throbbing side. My vision swims with the new pain, and my breaths are pulled from me in tight gasps. Broken—gods, I think he broke my rib.

_The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. _

I lunge forward, flailing at the wooden stairs for a sword I see through my hazy vision. I stand unevenly, gasping as I hold my side. I hold the blade up uselessly, waiting—waiting and watching. _Please, Mythal—please, come on—_

The creature and his dragon step forward to me.

_So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires. _

Over the creature's shoulder, against the light from the moon, I see it, just a tiny flicker.

Relief rushes through me so powerfully that I almost collapse at once. The fire arrow arcs across the sky so far away that it's difficult to make out. I close my eyes, tears leaking down my cheeks. They made it. They're safe. 

_And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die. _

I see the lever out of the corner of my eye, and I smile at the creature. “Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I’m dying, it’s not today.”

I reach out and kick the lever as hard as I can. The trebuchet winds up and tosses a boulder out across Haven. I start running as soon as it’s gone, and I hear it collide with the mountain above. I glance back to see an avalanche rush down the mountainside. The creature watches me angrily and silently. The dragon sweeps its wings around the darkspawn, and he disappears as the dragon takes flight quickly. Red templars try to escape Haven, but I glance back to see them quickly buried in the avalanche.

Snow chases my feet, and I glance to the left, seeing a poor option that I latch onto desperately. I throw myself sideways, colliding with the broken wooden paneling that once blocked the entrance to the lower tunnels under Haven. As soon as I go crashing through it, I see why. It’s a straight drop down. I slam into a wooden beam, screaming as my ribs crack a second time in protest. The air whooshes out of me, and I slip before I can grab the beam. I fall into another, my spine bruising before I fall again. I try to reach out to grab the next pillar, and my elbow crashes against it blindingly. I scream again, feeling and hearing my bone shatter against the wood as I fall. I land on my back, a broken heap on the ground. Sobs rattle weakly through me as I roll stiffly onto my side.

Tears stream urgently as I gasp for air. Panic lopes through me when I can’t take a breath, and I scramble at the ground, my nails dragging against stone as I move onto my knees, struggling for a moment. My spine cries out in protest, aching low on my back from where I hit one of the beams. I gasp and cry out when air fills my lungs again, and I spend several long seconds just breathing and shaking violently.

I take another wheezing breath as I try to figure out just how much damage my last-ditch effort did. My left hand aches and throbs from the magic he forcibly tried to remove. It glows brilliantly, its green light vibrant and pulsing in the dark cavern. My right arm is definitely broken; I see the bone protruding unnaturally inside my skin, and I look away, horrified. My ankle hurts, but I don’t think I broke it. I should still be able to walk. My spine concerns me, and I move my legs to ensure that I didn't do anything more than bruise it. Even the bruise feels like a broken bone, though, and I gasp shallowly through my tears. My ribs, however, are in agony. I know I broke at least three. My breaths wheeze out of me, affirming the idea as I clutch at my side with my left hand. I try to take as deep a breath as I can, and my chest cries out in protest. I cough the air out, praying to Mythal that none of the dislodged bones have pierced my lungs. 

Could be better, but it could be a whole lot worse, too. I could be dead or a paralyzed heap on the ground. I thank Mythal for my good fortune as I look up at the cave I landed in. Icy stalactites hang down, threatening to run me through at any moment. I glance up, groaning when I see how far I fell and how many beams I broke along the way. I suspect those beams may have saved my life, though, stopping my momentum before I hit the ground. I send another prayer to Mythal in gratitude for her protection. 

I see the etchings along the walls, carvings and archaic portraits of a woman who can only be Andraste, and I wonder if these tunnels lead to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

I gasp and groan, hanging my head before I lean back against my heels, wincing. I cry when I realize I can’t even heal my broken arm or fix my own ribs. I can’t trust my left hand to perform the spell without bringing the cave ceiling down on my head, and I can't move my right arm enough to place my hand on my ribs. 

I give myself a couple of gasping moments, sobbing weakly in fear before I bring myself to my feet, take a shallow breath, and start walking.

***

I walk for hours before I see the light at the end of the tunnel—a literal one, not the death kind, though I wouldn’t be terribly surprised if I _did _see that one, for all the pain I'm in. At this point, it would probably feel like a blessing from the gods. 

I tried to use my right hand to heal my ankle, but it hurt too much to try to summon the magic, and my mana was too low to force it, so I gave up. Whatever that creature did trying to remove the mark drained me.

I stumble forward, my left hand sliding along the walls. I wince when I feel a rock slice into my fingers shallowly. I glance at them to see blood pooling and beading, and I bring my hand down, careful to not add infection to my long list of problems today.

When I emerge from the cave, the wind knocks me down to my knees in greeting. I raise my hands to shield my eyes from the gusts as snow slaps against me like rain. A chill spreads through me as flakes from the blizzard slip into my clothes and melt against my skin. My chin trembles after mere moments in the snow, and I pull myself up weakly, groaning loudly, since no one’s here to hear it.

My heart drops when I realize I can’t see anything. I don’t even know which direction I’m facing, because the morning light refracts through the snow, coming at me from all sides. I gasp, unable to cross my arms over myself in the chill. I squint in the snow, seeing something inert on the ground dozens of feet from me. I glance back at the cave, but I’m certain I’ll die if I stay, so I move—perhaps ill-advisedly.

With no better options, I step into the snow. My Dalish boots provide little protection from the snow, and I wish I’d put on something sturdier when I'd dressed. 

I release a strangled sigh when I hit the packed snow, forcing my damaged ankle through the mounds slowly. As I walk, I realize my teeth are clattering, and I try to force them to be still. The wind bites into my skin, and all I can think about is my long conversations with Solas well into the night. I think of Varric’s laugh and Cassandra’s disgusted noise. Even Dorian’s grin comes to mind. After knowing him such a short time, I realize he counts among my friends with his quick smiles and impassioned loyalty for a Dalish elf he barely knew.

When I get closer to the object, I realize it’s just a wagon. I sag a little, unsure what I expected. Because of the snow, I can’t tell how long it’s been here or which direction it was originally going before it toppled onto its side. I hesitate, looking around, dismayed when I realize I don’t know which way to go. I turn around to see my tracks covered, so I can’t evenly confidently get back to cave. I realize with a flash of anger that I should have stayed in the cave long enough for the blasted blizzard to at least slow down. 

I look around, struggling to see through the snow, hoping to catch a glimpse of something to head towards, but there's nothing. As I try to orient myself with the light of the sun unsuccessfully, I hear the loud howls of wolves nearby. I gasp and stumble backwards clumsily, landing in the snow like one of those idiot girls in the cautionary stories the hahrens told us. The wolves seem close, perhaps only dozens of feet from me. The roaring wind shatters their voices, making them come at me from several sides. I pull myself up to my feet raggedly and turn around away from them, walking quickly through the packed snow. Their presence decides my direction for me, and I walk as briskly as I can to escape their jaws. 

Everything in me aches. My lungs can’t properly expand; all I can manage is short, shallow breaths that leave me lightheaded, and even those pull at my protesting ribs. My right arm throbs, and my left hand feels like it’s been crushed under a boulder and then set on fire and then run over by a horse that was also on fire.

A laugh slips hysterically through my chattering teeth, and I frown at myself. Too soon to go crazy. I think if I wasn’t so drained, I’d probably be crying, so I’m at least grateful for the exhaustion, though it does make the trek difficult.

By midday, I’m so foolishly starving that my stomach becomes another dull ache. I still hear the wolves calling after me, urging me on more quickly than I’d like to go. I can’t see them when I turn around, but the blizzard makes it impossible to see anything more than a few feet away.

By early evening, the wind picks up even more, and by nightfall, the blizzard is so strong that whispered sobs break through my chest. My toes are like ice, and my fingers have long-since gone blue. I stumble forward, falling to my knees. I rest my left hand against the snow, breathing out painfully. I sit back on my heels, and I consider staying here until I hear the wolves again. They sound closer, so I pick myself back up and continue forward.

I'm going to die out here.

I'll be mauled by wolves, or maybe I'll just fall asleep and never wake up again. Maybe I'll make it through this blizzard, but lost and alone in the barren Frostback Mountains, I will die.

The realization barely registers at first, and then I realize I’m too tired to even acknowledge it. When I hear the wolves again, I almost wish they’d just get it over with already.

I trip and hit the snow, gasping at the pain in my left hand when I catch myself, grateful beyond measure that I didn’t reach out instinctively with my right. I sigh heavily, hanging my head. I don’t know why it feels like such a betrayal to give up.

_Endure._

Oh, that’s why. Thank you for that, Keeper Deshanna. I recall Solas' words about the burden my name has placed on my shoulders; it didn't truly feel like one until today.

I force myself back up, my knees shaking as I walk. The moon is barely bright enough to light the path, and the snow reflects that, too, making it difficult to tell which direction the true light comes from. My path is dictated solely by the predators I hear occasionally behind me. Sometimes they fall silent for so long that I'm sure they've given up on my trail. Right when I'm about to collapse, though, they howl out loudly, reminding me why I was walking in the first place. My path is slow and winding, and I fall many times along the way. When I reach an uphill part of my path, I almost consider turning around or just falling over. Instead, I force myself up, my sore muscles and aching bones screaming in protest, bringing tears to my eyes once more.

It’s dawn again when I finally reach the top of the summit. I gasp in relief when I realize I’ve escaped the harshest of the blizzard winds. I look behind me to see the snow raging down below still, the valley a blanket of white mist. There’s little wind up here, and I fall to my knees, crawling achingly with my left hand to a tree.

I just need a minute. Just a small moment to rest, and then I'll keep going. 

I slide against the tree, falling against it. I’m drifting to an uncomfortable sleep when I hear the wolves howl again desperately, their voices so much closer that it startles me awake. I half-expect to see them before me, waiting to chew me into pieces, but instead, there’s only the summit ledge and the morning sun. I hang my head, crying weakly, because I’m exhausted and drained, and all I want is five minutes to rest.

The wolves howl again, closer, and I drag myself to my feet, wiping my eyes with my frozen left forearm. I glance up at the sun to see which direction I’m heading, but I don’t both letting that determine my path. The wolves behind me are the only thing I can hope to avoid at this point. Maybe I’ll get lucky and freeze to death before they catch up with me. If they do catch me, I just hope they don't toy with me. A swift death is the only thing I can hope for at this point. 

The serious thought brings another hysterical laugh, and I frown at myself again. Get it together.

I pass a campfire whose embers have long-since gone cold. Another day passes over me as I walk, and by evening, I’m just too exhausted to continue. My knees give out, and I land heavily, panting shallowly before I fall into the snow face first. I curl up on my side, praying to Mythal for just a moment’s rest. I feel dizzy and lightheaded from my weak breaths, and I just want to sleep—just for a few minutes.

The wolves howl behind me, but this time I don’t respond, in far too much pain to rise again. I invite Fen’Harel to do his worst and let my body relax into the snow. It's almost warm against my numb skin, like a blanket. The howling grows closer and more insistent, and after a moment, I start crying again, because despite everything, I can’t sleep to the noise; it's far too loud, the howling too desperate and demanding. I crawl forward a few inches, dragging myself up to my feet with a pitiful groan. Can't they just let me die in peace? Haven't I suffered enough? 

Another day passes me slowly as I walk, my toes frozen in the snow. I don’t dare look down, afraid of what shade they might be after so much cold. My throat is dry and raspy, and it takes me a long time to realize I'm dehydrated. I reach out for some snow with my left hand weakly, bringing it to my lips. They're so cold that I don't even feel how freezing it is anymore. The ice doesn't melt properly in my mouth, but I swallow it down anyway. It hits my empty stomach, and I shiver violently. My breaths wheeze from me weakly, my ribs refusing to give me leeway to breathe. I realize I’m hoping I’ll just pass out after a while. At least then I could rest, and it wouldn't feel like it was my fault or like I gave up. The wolves continue to track me, and I imagine my smell must be easy to find. I _do _wonder why they haven’t caught up yet, though. Wolves are excellent hunters. They should have found me that first day. I frown numbly, stumbling forward as another dawn slowly approaches. 

The sun at least warms me a bit as I continue, and the snow grows a little shallower, my toes meeting solid rock after a while. By the next night, I’m contemplating the likelihood of me accidently stumbling off a mountain, which seems like a possibility for how little I’m paying attention to my surroundings.

There is no moon tonight, and I can barely see. My glowing hand provides the only real light, and even that is weak after so many days spent wandering lost. I would stop if not for the insistent wolves. I pass through a narrow canyon between two mountains and look up to realize I've begun to hallucinate. Ahead, I see a massive orange glow across the snow far ahead, flickering almost like that of a hundreds campfires. I frown, confused, because I thought mirages only happened in the desert. Perhaps I'm more dehydrated than I thought. An alarming thought, but one that doesn't properly register. 

I stumble forward weakly, relieved to find more solid ground under my feet. The wolves raise their volume, and if I had the strength to, I’d tell them to pipe down. Instead, I stagger against the side of the canyon, my arm scraping against it as I continue slowly.

My vision catches on something else ahead, but I can’t make it out clearly. Whatever it is approaches me slowly, something orange glowing in its hand. A torch? Well, this hallucination is escalating. 

I frown, blinking rapidly when I recognize the lion’s armor. My frown deepens. Odd that I should conjure him of all people to appear in this vision. Am I close to dying then? 

"Maker," Cullen breathes, lunging forward. 

I blink in confusion, and then I fall to my knees, crying when I realize it _isn’t _a hallucination.

“She's here! Maker, I found her!” Cullen shouts, and I cry harder, so drained that I can’t restrain it. “It’s her! Sound the signal!”

A second later, a whining, loud horn startles me and echoes across the mountains deafeningly.

I gasp, bending forward weakly as Cullen runs over to me, Cassandra on his heels. Both of them are follow by three Inquisition agents, and I try to compose myself, but I can’t. I didn’t think I’d find them.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra cries. "Is she alright?!"

Cullen and Cassandra kneel before me.

“Herald,” Cassandra says, reaching for me. I fall forward against her, exhaustion weighing heavily on me. I don’t mean to, but a sob slips through my teeth as everything floods through me powerfully. “Your arm—! Maker, Cullen, she's freezing. We need to get her to the healers, quickly—”

Cullen switches places with her, and I fall against him, too. “It’s alright now,” he says reassuringly as he lifts me up. I cry harder when my right arm falls, dangling painfully. Cullen stands, carrying me swiftly as the snow starts falling again. My left hand gleams against his breastplate, blinding me. Cassandra marches ahead of him, shouting orders.

“Find Solas!” she calls. “He left with Varric and Dorian. Bring him to the infirmary tent, and get the healers! She needs healing immediately. Blow the signal again—bring them all back! Now, hurry!”

The horn whines shrilly again, startling me once more.

“I can walk,” I urge. It hurts to speak, my voice hoarse in my own ears. 

“Don’t talk,” Cullen replies. “We’re almost there. It’s alright.” 

“You did it, Herald,” Cassandra agrees, turning to me worriedly. “You saved us. Everyone made it out. Maker...we thought you were dead.”

"Almost," I reply weakly. "Not quite." The joke falls a little flat.

Cullen carries me through the massive encampment, and a myriad of gasps travels along those we pass by. 

“Make way!” Cassandra orders. “She’s badly wounded. Get the healers ready!”

I'm beginning to wonder just how large this camp _is _when Cullen ducks into a tent, and suddenly we're inside. My skin warms from the many candles deposited around us, and a wheezing breath is pulled from me in relief. I'm only just beginning to realize how cold I was.

“Maker, is that...Put her here,” a woman says quickly. “I need to set her arm.”

A cot meets my back as Cullen sets me down, and then he and Cassandra surround the bed, watching me anxiously.

“When did you break it?” the healer asks, and I look over at her wearily. Her brown eyes find mine, but I'm having trouble focusing. 

I blink, struggling to remember her question. “What?”

“Your arm," she says. "No, keep looking at me." She pats my cheeks, and my eyes flutter open again. "How long ago was it, Herald? I need you to try to stay awake. When did you break your arm?"

“Oh...days ago. I...fell in Haven...the tunnels below the...the village,” I murmur tiredly, frowning faintly.

“Stay with us, Herald,” she says gruffly. “Don’t go to sleep. I need you to bite down on this.”

“What?” I gasp, recoiling from the leather belt, suddenly wide awake. “Why?”

“Commander,” the woman says, looking up at him. 

Cullen comes around behind me, holding my shoulders down with a grim expression.

“What are you doing?” I ask, panicked. 

“I have to set the bone before it heals in the wrong place,” the healer says. "I need you to bite down on this."

“N-no, wait, what about—”

“Bite down on this,” she repeats.

“Cassandra!” I exclaim, looking at her desperately. She meets my eyes, looking at healer uncertainly. 

Before she can speak, the healer pulls the belt through my teeth, forcing me to bite down.

“Her legs, Seeker,” she adds. "Keep her down; this won't be pleasant."

My eyes widen, and I pant shallowly through my nose. I try to say something, but my words come out muffled as Cassandra grips my ankles.

“Herald, I won’t lie to you; this is gonna hurt,” the healer warns. 

“Wait, wait—” I try to say, my words muffled. She grips my hand, pressing her fingers to my arm where the bone threatens to break through skin. “Wait—wait—wai—” The healer swiftly pulls my arm up and out, and I scream louder than I’ve ever screamed in my life. Blinding pain shoots up my arm like fire as the bone is jerked back into place forcibly. I buck wildly against Cullen’s hands, tears flooding my eyes as I wail against the belt. My jaw grows sore when my teeth clench against the leather.

“What are you doing?” someone demands angrily, his normally reserved voice raised in furious shock.

I wail loudly and hoarsely, my arm on fire as he storms into the tent.

“We need to set her arm,” the healer says unapologetically. "It's already been too long. It'll heal wrong, and we'd have to rebreak it if we waited."

“This is _needlessly _barbaric.” He pushes past the healer, coming to my side as I sob loudly against the belt. I look over, barely making Solas out through my tears. “Lethallin,” he says softly. He reaches for my forehead, his fingers gentle against my sweating skin. I cry his name against the belt, and I hear quiet words murmured swiftly under his breath. My head grows heavy, and I blink rapidly, my cries dying down until they become weak, shallow breaths. “Sleep, lethallin,” he murmurs as the pain fades away. I mumble something against the belt, my vision blurring unsteadily as my eyelids fall heavily. “Sleep. You are safe now.”


	21. Where the Sky Was Held Back

When I first wake, I’m able to stay conscious long enough to give Cassandra a slightly delirious account of what happened. Solas sits close beside me, his hand clasped firmly around mine. Parts of me feel stronger than they did before, my pain well moderated. My high fever makes me a little nonsensical, but Cassandra seems to understand what I’m saying. Solas listens quietly, his expression serious and, at times, angry. Cassandra asks a hundred questions, and I pass out before I manage to answer a quarter of them. I manage to provide all the most pressing information, hitting all the best highlights—giant darkspawn, glowing orb, Anchor manipulation, godhood declaration—all that good stuff.

The next time I wake, the sun is in a new position, and Solas and Varric try to convince me to eat. I manage a little stew, but my fever has turned my stomach, and I push it away disinterestedly. I drink enough water to placate them both, but I'm too drained to manage anything better. Varric watches me worriedly, his eyes concerned as he glances at Solas, and I think I start to say something about being fine before I pass out again.

The third and official time I wake from my stupor, it isn’t due to the sun or the wind or any other countless natural things. It’s the sound of Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra arguing heatedly. At first, it’s a welcome symbol of being home. It makes me feel oddly secure and safe, despite the fury in each of their tones. The longer it drags on, though, the heavier it weighs on me. I open my eyes to see I’m alone with Mother Giselle, who sits beside me, her legs crossed. Her foot sways as she knits a thick scarf idly, glancing up at the others periodically. I close my eyes again and try to fall back asleep.

When I can’t, I take stock of how I feel. My ribs have been mostly healed. At least I can breathe normally again. My arm is bandaged to my side to keep it from moving as I sleep; it's sore, but the ache is gone. My spine is infinitely better, and my ankle doesn’t hurt at all anymore. Solas must have fixed my left hand, because it feels fuzzy and dulled, the throbbing sensation gone. I open my eyes again, staring up at the ceiling. The sun sets, casting warm shadows over the tent walls as I lie there. Evening approaching swiftly, and the others’ voices carry over to me ceaselessly as their argument drags on.

“What would you have me tell them?” Cullen demands angrily. “This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

“We cannot simply _ignore _this!” Cassandra argues. “We _must _find a way!”

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus, or we have nothing!”

I sit up with difficulty, balancing on my left elbow.

“Please, we _must _use reason!” Josephine intervenes. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition—”

“It can’t come from nowhere!” Cullen exclaims.

“She didn’t say it could!” Leliana shouts, coming to Josephine’s aid.

“_Enough_!” Cassandra yells, throwing her hands up into the air. “This is getting us _nowhere_!”

“Well, we’re agreed on that much!” Cullen huffs.

Mother Giselle glances at me and sets her knitting aside. “Shh,” she murmurs, leaning towards me. “You need rest.”

"How long have I been...?"

"The commander and the Seeker brought you in eight days ago."

My eyes widen in shock. "I thought...it'd only been a day or two."

Mother Giselle gives me a small smile. "You certainly kept us on our toes. Your fever was stubborn and did not break for many days. Many of the healers said you would not live." I blink in surprise. "But Solas was not so convinced. He reminded us you are strong. He watched over you the whole time, refusing to leave," she adds, something of a mischievous smile spreading when my cheeks flush. "I finally had to kick him out myself. He is stubborn, but I am more so. The others sat with you, too. Varric and the Tevinter mage, especially, though they all visited. The Seeker paced around you so quickly for so many hours that it made me dizzy."

I look down, uncertain how to respond. Warmth floods my chest, and I swallow thickly. 

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"Much better," I reply. "I...I'm not cold anymore, so that's good."

Mother Giselle surprises me with a quiet laugh. "That is good to hear. And your wounds? Solas and the healers did what they could."

"I feel much better. Exhausted and starving, but better."

"Here," she says, handing me some bread and water. "The stew is not yet finished, but I took these for you in case you woke."

"Thank you, Mother Giselle," I murmur, sitting up stiffly. I take a sip of water that I intend to be short, but I soon drain the mug. Mother Giselle watches me with a smile, standing to refill the mug when I've drained it. "Thank you," I say again, accepting the mug greedily. I drink more before she stops me, wisely urging me to slow down. I switch to the bread, suddenly ravenous. 

I glance over to see Cullen and Cassandra arguing again. Their words don't reach me as easily, but their posture is unmistakably tense.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” I murmur as I finish the bread. 

“They have that luxury, thanks to you," Mother Giselle says softly. "The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this _Corypheus_.”

I close my eyes, sighing out as I look at the ground. “Do we know where we and his charming friends are?”

Mother Giselle grimaces. “We are not sure where _we _are, which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. Without Haven, we are thought helpless...or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us.”

I sigh again, glancing at the others briefly. “If they’re arguing about what we do next, I need to be there.”

Mother Giselle shakes her head, catching me and making me sit when I try to stand. “Another heated voice won’t help, even yours. Perhaps _especially _yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand…and fall. And now, we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no?” she asks, seeing my reaction. “What _we _have been called to endure, what we, perhaps, must come to believe.”

“Mother Giselle,” I sigh, setting my empty mug aside, “I just…don’t see how what _I _believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a real, _physical _threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.”

The mother stares at me, and I look down. I rise stiffly off the cot, walking forward a few steps. I only manage to make it far enough to lean against the tent’s pole tiredly. I look across at the others. Josephine sits on a bench, rubbing the back of her neck tiredly as she stares into the fire below her. Leliana sits close beside her on the ground, hugging her legs to her chest as she, too, gazes into the flames. Cullen stands over a table, flattening and re-flattening the same corner of the map. Cassandra stands next to him, cutting tense glances at him.

I breathe out slowly. Mother Giselle comes to stand beside me, pressing her hand to my shoulder. She parts her lips, breathing out slowly, and I look over at her when she begins to softly sing. Her quiet voice moves into the pretty melody, her words carrying over the campfire. She steps away from me to the center of the camp, and dozens of pairs of eyes turn to her in unison. I find the ground, listening to the lyrics quietly. 

"_Shadows fall, and hope has fled._

_ Steel your heart, the dawn will come._

_ The night is long, and the path is dark._

_ Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_ The dawn will come."_

Leliana looks up at the song, her eyes shining in recognition. She waits a moment before joining in, her voice prettily combining with the mother's. One by one, other voices add to the song until it feels like nearly the whole camp is raised in song. My cheeks flame, and I look down again, crossing my left arm over my stomach. The words fill my mind, and I wonder how they all know it so well. 

"_The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far._

_ Keep to the stars, the dawn will come. _

_ The night is long, and the path is dark. _

_ Look to the sky, for one day soon, _

_ The dawn will come."_

Members of the Inquisition—soldiers and refugees, mages and templars—come to stand before me. I push up off the pole, watching them uncertainly. My eyes flood when they kneel before me, and I shift my stance, dropping my eyes again, somehow honored and uncomfortable at the same time. 

"_Bare your blade and raise it high._

_ Stand your ground, the dawn will come._

_ The night is long, and the path is dark._

_ Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_ The dawn will come."_

The final words of the song linger in the air, perfect silence ringing in my ears. The Inquisition rises, bowing their heads to me as they disperse. I quickly run my fingers over my cheeks, pretending to scratch an itch as I breathe in sharply, moved more than I care to admit. 

Mother Giselle returns to me. “An army needs more than an enemy,” she murmurs. “It needs a cause.”

She steps away from me again, moving towards the others. Several of them actually smile, talking quietly as they carry bowls of stew to each other.

I drop my eyes to the ground, a breath falling from me uncertainly.

Someone comes up behind me. I turn to see Solas. “A word, lethallin?” he murmurs, moving past me just as quickly.

I follow him, crossing my left arm over my stomach again. He guides me through the camp and then away from it to a small brazier. He lights it swiftly, taming the flame before it flares too high.

He turns to me, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes appraise me, relief evident in his expression, though he doesn't comment on it further. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he muses. “The faith is hard won, lethallin, worthy of pride…save one detail.”

I cock my head softly.

“The threat Corypheus wields? The orb you described?" Solas watches me closely. "It is ours.”

I hesitate, blinking as my lips part. “What?” I breathe.

“Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived…and we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

I release the breath I’m holding. “What…what is it? How do you know about it?”

Solas looks at me evenly. “Such things were foci, said to channel power from elven gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of the pantheon. All that remains are references in ruin and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is _elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head before I gaze over the mountains past the lit brazier. “It seems like no matter what we do, the Chantry always find some way to blame elves.”

“That is true,” Solas says quietly.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter if we can’t get out of these mountains.”

“That is the immediate problem,” he agrees, “and it offers a solution that may secure your place in their hearts. You saved them at Haven. Perhaps you can again." I look up at him, cocking my head again. "By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it, changed _you_. Scout to the north. Be their guide.”

“Where will we go?” I murmur. 

He smiles softly, his eyes sad. “There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build…_grow_.”

***

We spend a two months moving north through the mountains, our pilgrimage slow and hard-going. Food grows scarce in some of the more barren areas. Elk are difficult to track down this high in the mountains, but Leliana sends our stealthiest scouts out to hunt regularly. In our desperate escape from Haven, the Inquisition wound up nestled deep in the mountains, far from any marked paths. It takes weeks to find the old roads, but when we do, we manage to move more quickly. 

Not all of us make it. Chancellor Roderick was the first to die, hours after he got everyone through the path from the Chantry in Haven. He lived just long enough to save us. Once we begin our pilgrimage, one of the older mothers from the Chantry dies in her sleep, and then one of our soldiers dies from infection from a wound no one knew he had. When the children start getting sick, I join the healers, working tirelessly to keep their fevers away. One of them comes close to dying, but I refuse to allow it, staying up with her all night until her fever finally breaks. 

Despite our hardships, we persevere, the Inquisition proving itself an indefatigable and unbroken organization, moving me more than words can say. Solas remains by my side, guiding me. We move ahead of the convoy, finding a path suitable for the rest.

On what becomes the last day of our pilgrimage, Solas convinces me to climb up a steep cliff with him. I follow slowly, using my staff for balance as we climb higher and higher. He turns when he reaches the top, holding his hand out to me. I don't question him, though I _am _curious as what we brought me up here for. He pulls me to the summit, and I look at him with a raised eyebrow. He smiles softly, his eyes searching mine for a long moment before he turns and gestures through the mountains. 

I follow his gaze, and my lips part in awe.

“Skyhold,” Solas murmurs quietly beside me.

I step forward once, unable to believe my eyes. The massive stone fortress sits atop a mountain, so strong in its design that I feel a burst of pride and hope at the thought that it will be ours. The first thing I notice is how utterly defensible it is, and I realize just how deeply Haven's destruction has settled in my chest. That won't happen to us here, that much is clear. It isn't possible to overrun this fortress. The battlements raise up so high and so thick that I can barely see more than the tallest towers, and there is so little room between the walls and the drop off the mountain that no army could possibly find the leverage to break through. A massive stone bridge crosses a gorge from the fortress to an adjacent peak, but I see at least three distinct gates before the walls, capable of keeping unwanted guests from even reaching the bridge itself. The path from the bridge winds thickly through the mountains to the west, large enough that our few wagons will have no trouble traversing the space. Skyhold is beautiful and enormous. It's large enough to house all of us—strong enough to _defend _all of us. Nestled in these mountains, we will be safe from Corypheus, safe from his red templars, perhaps safe even from his dragon. 

My eyes flood, and I look at Solas breathlessly. He admires the fortress with a solemnity that gives me pause, a look that he composes when he feels my gaze. He smiles gently at my reaction, though the expression doesn't quite meet his eyes before he looks back at Skyhold. I want to ask him so many things, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities and a thousand questions as I return to the fortress as well. 

“Solas,” I gasp. “How did you...where...I...This is...” I give up on speech after a few tries, shaking my head in awe. 

He turns to me, the solemn look still unshakably clouding his expression. I hesitate, searching him for an answer, but he smiles again, extending his hand to me. 

“Come,” he murmurs. “Let me know you the path.”

I take his hand, glancing back one last time at the fortress that will soon become the Inquisition’s home and harbor.


	22. Inquisitor Lavellan

We spend weeks properly setting up in Skyhold. The fortress is even more majestic than I'd imagined. Its previous owners left it in some disarray, but scaffolding was quickly placed along the weakest points, and stone is brought in by the wagon-ful to fix the damage, curtesy of Josephine’s ambassador connections.

Most everyone has found their home here during the last few weeks. I can almost always find Solas in the atrium just off the main hall—a large circular room that I’ve begun to think of simply as Solas’ study and where I’ve spent a great deal of my time since moving in. Above the study is the Skyhold's extensive library where, more often than not, Dorian is pouring over some book, shaking his head in dismay at whatever plot he’s reading. In the rookery, Leliana’s ravens caw loudly as she works at her own desk, her agents scattered about waiting for orders or bringing news.

At the other end of the main hall, grand doors lead to the gardens where I can generally find Mother Giselle. We spent half a day discussing things amidst the peace of the gardens when we first arrived, and I found myself admiring her the more I spoke with her. Down the main hall, across from the undercroft is the door to my quarters. It’s a _long_ flight of stairs, but the view from my room—higher than any other spot in the fortress—is breathtaking.

The lower courtyard has been taken over by the healers, whose tents have been scattered thickly to service those wounded from Haven or from their journeys to Skyhold. The upper courtyard, at around six o’clock in the morning, is a dangerous place to be if you aren't in the mood for sparring. Cassandra and Cullen have taken to training soldiers there, shouting out orders until everyone is breathless. Even just watching them is exhausting.

The tavern, which the others have taken to calling Herald’s Rest, is where most of the others hang out. More often than not, Bull sits in a back corner, eyeing the place smoothly. Krem flanks him, sitting in a chair that is his one blind spot—whether he was _told _to sit there, or he just knew that was the best place for him, I’m not sure. Though the atmosphere of the tavern is deliberately relaxed, I can see the Ben-Hassrath training in Bull taking over sometimes. When we first got here, he spent hours with Cullen, Leliana, and our quartermaster, going over all the weaknesses he saw in Skyhold. I fortunately wasn't present for the meeting, but I saw the guard rotations change after that. Ever since, the walls have been manned more earnestly, the soldiers organized more thoroughly than ever.

Sera lives on the second floor of the tavern. She quickly claimed the only room, making it her own with colors as bright and energetic as she is. She keeps the windows open at all hours of the day, with exception to Cassandra and Cullen's training hours, and I often see her sitting on the roof late into the night eating cookies—from what I can discern. Cole sometimes spends his time on the rarely-used third floor, though he appears and disappears as he pleases around the fortress. I imagine one of these days someone will have a talk with me about it, but I enjoy his easy nature. He spends a lot of his time with the healers, though I have yet to see what he does to help them myself.

Varric can almost always be found in the main hall or the tavern. Blackwall has evidently moved into the second level of the stables, far removed from everyone else. Cullen’s office, as I understand it, has a room just above it that he’s claimed. Josephine’s office is on the way to the war room, the latter of which was the first thing we set up properly. Before beds and quarters were assigned, Cullen and the others established which room was best for our planning. There has so far been plenty of room for all our soldiers and mages, towers filled to the brim with cots and beds and people, though I’ve heard no complaints about the conditions. This fortress was, evidently, designed to hold thousands. Should the barracks and towers fill up, there's an entire wing of the fortress under the main hall that we've allocated for more cots. 

This morning, I’ve spent almost all my time in one of the towers just off the lower courtyard. The healers have been making it suitable for a medical center, but there is a lot of stuff left behind from the previous owners to go through first—and a great deal of spiderwebs that I avoid religiously. 

I step outside into the courtyard for some fresh air, wiping my fingers off on a rag kindly provided to me. Across from me near the stairs to the upper courtyard, Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine are talking quietly, their expressions excited and eager for once, which is a good plus. I’m ready to leave them to it when Cassandra spots me and waves me over. Her smile throws me, and I look suspiciously at the others to see them _all _smiling at me.

Odd.

I toss the rag over the edge of the railing and move down the few steps to the grass. As I approach, Cassandra folds her hands behind her back, and the others depart, all moving in separate directions with glances at me. Leliana takes the stairs to the upper courtyard as the other two disappear into the barracks.

I glance at them suspiciously again, chuckling as I move closer.

Cassandra nudges her chin to the gates of Skyhold, pleased. I glance over to see a massive wagon being led into the lower courtyard. Refugees take down their cowls, admiring Skyhold with openly awed expressions. “They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” I smile at that, and Cassandra glances at me, walking backwards so I’ll follow her. We reach the stairs to the upper courtyard, going slowly. “If word as reached these people it,” she continues, “it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed us to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.”

She pauses at the second courtyard, turning to me when I make a face. “Yes, he came for this,” I answer, raising my left hand slightly. “And now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead. Charming.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow at me. “The _Anchor _has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here.” She continues walking, taking us around to the second flight of stairs that leads from the upper courtyard to the main hall. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did.” She stops on the landing. “And we know it. All of us.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, “that and a…big…old...” I trail off, staring at Leliana confusedly. She stands before us with a great sword outstretched in her arms. She gives me an almost playful smile, stepping forward once.

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra says. “The one who has _already _been leading it.”

I blink in shock, my mind slow to process what they’re saying. I part my lips to say something, but nothing comes out. Leliana glances pointedly at the lower courtyard below us, and I look down to see the crowd gathered. Hundreds of people have congregated to stare up at us, grinning broadly, and more are on their way—soldiers and scouts, mages and templars, refugees and Chantry mothers. Amongst their already staggering number, I see Bull and Krem grinning against a wall. Varric and Dorian are smirking at me in the middle of the crowd, the latter cocking an eyebrow amusedly when I find him. Solas watches me with warm eyes, his hands folded behind his back as he stands apart from the others. Cullen and Josephine are at the front of the crowd. The commander is smirking, and the ambassador's hands are clasped under her chin as she grins excitedly. 

“You,” Cassandra finishes, bringing my attention back to her.

“I—” My eyes widen at her, and she offers a very small smile. “I…don’t…” I clear my throat. “I don’t know what to say…obviously…”

“Say that you won’t make me regret this,” she jokes drily—at least, I think she’s joking.

“Why?” I wonder quietly, looking at her seriously. “Why are you choosing me, of all people? Why not…you or Cullen or Leliana or—”

“Because I believe this is what was meant to be,” she answers, “that without you, there would be no Inquisition.” She waves her hand, urging me to walk forward to Leliana. I do, hesitantly. The sword is enormous. Suddenly, I’m terrified I won’t even be able to lift it. That would certainly be embarrassing… “What it means for the future,” Cassandra continues, “how you lead us…that is entirely up to you.”

I reach forward hesitantly to brush my fingers against the golden dragon spread across the sword handle, its fiery breath giving way to the long, thick blade.

“Wish I’d…worn something nicer,” I mumble distractedly.

Leliana chuckles softly, offering the sword again.

I take it from her carefully, gripping the handle as tightly as I can. It is _very_ heavy, and I have to use both hands to raise it up off Leliana's hands gently. I balance the blade on my fingers, staring down at it, all too aware of what this means.

“Corypheus will never let us live in peace,” I murmur. “He made that clear. He intends to be a god, to _rule _over us all. He must be stopped.”

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra nods approvingly, "the Inquisition will stand behind you." She steps to the edge of the landing, looking down to the others. “Have our people been told?” she calls.

“They have!” Josephine replies with an eager smile. “And soon, the world!”

“Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen walks before the crowd, raising his hands. “Inquisition! Will you follow?” The courtyard suddenly erupts with a cacophony of cheers, eager exclamations affirming their support. “Will you fight?” The rumbling turns into a roar, the fortress echoing with their unified voices. “Will we triumph?” The thunder grows impossibly louder as Cullen turns back to us, grinning widely. He pulls his sword free, raising it to point at me. “Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

My heart soars, and the crowd deafens me. I mimic Cullen’s posture, raising the blade up. The crowd grows even louder, their cheers drowning out anything else. My eyes flood at their acceptance, their allegiance—to me, a Dalish mage, of all people.

I glance down to see Cullen and Josephine exchange a pleased look. Solas smiles softly, his expression warm and appraising. Dorian and Varric whoop and applaud. Dorian bows lavishly when I look at him, and I grin, a chuckle bursting from me giddily as I lower the heavy blade. Bull and Krem clap loudly, Bull’s rumbling roar reaching me from all the way across the courtyard.

Looking at them, it hits me that not only is this an honor and a privilege but a responsibility. It settles deep in my chest; these people have entrusted their lives to me. Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, Josephine...they trust me with this duty, and I will not make them regret it. I know I will do whatever I can to see them through this war. Corypheus thought he destroyed us at Haven, but I realize with startling clarity that he's only made us stronger.

***

Cullen and Cassandra push open the doors to the main hall briskly, letting them stay open as they go. I follow them through, Leliana and Josephine close behind me.

“So, this is where it begins,” Cullen murmurs, giving the hall a long once-over.

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana corrects. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”

“But what do we do?” Josephine wonders. “We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark.”

I chew my cheek, turning to them as we stop in the middle of the hall. “Well, good thing we know the future,” I mumble.

“We do have that one advantage,” Leliana agrees. “We know what Corypheus intends to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated.”

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause,” Josephine breathes. “With his army—”

“An army he’s growing with demons,” Cullen adds.

“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god.” 

Leliana sighs. “I’d feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with.”

“I know someone who can help with that.” We turn in unison to find Varric walking towards us. “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory, so I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.”

“Ooh,” I muse. “A mysterious friend. I’m game. Who is she? When can I meet her?”

Varric grimaces. “Parading around might…cause a fuss. It’s better for you to meet privately. She should be here soon. I’ll…let you know when I've heard back from her. Trust me…it’s... complicated.” He turns back, making his way to the courtyard again. 

“Well, then…” Josephine says slowly. “Uh…We stand ready to move on both of these concerns.”

“On your order, Inquisitor,” Cullen adds with a crooked smile.

I grin. “Gonna have to get used to that one.”

“I know one thing,” Leliana muses thoughtfully. “If Varric has brought who I _think _he has…Cassandra is going to kill him.”

***

“Now, Inquisitor,” Josephine says, gesturing for me to follow her through the main hall again. “There is one more part of your duties that we have not gone over.”

I see where she's heading, and I make an uncomfortable face, playing with my sleeve. “Are you sure?” I muse. “I feel like we’ve covered it all. I’m good. Are you good? I think we’re all good.”

She smirks. “I know we have been going over it all for hours, but this one last thing, and then you’re free to go.” She stops in front of the dais at the end of the long hall, looking at the throne above us.

“It’s a nice chair,” I offer, hoping she doesn't say that I think she's going to say.

“It is not a chair,” she says, amused with me. “It is a duty.”

Shit. “Looks like a chair…”

“This is where we will show the rest of the world how we intend to guide the Inquisition. The prisoners we capture will need to be sentenced, depending on the severity of their crimes. As we exist outside of Ferelden or Orlesian law, it stands to you to make these decisions.”

“Me?” I repeat, shocked. “Not…Cullen or—”

“_You_ are our leader. You represent everything the Inquisition is, everything it stands for. The role of Inquisitor is more than just ceremonial. It is of the utmost importance that _you _give the sentence, and, if need be, that _you _swing the sword.”

I grimace at the chair. “Charming.”

“We have our first prisoner awaiting a sentencing in the dungeons below. The guards are bringing him up as we speak.”

“What? Who?” I wonder.

“The magister from Redcliffe.”

"But...Redcliffe is Ferelden territory. Why are _we_ judging him? We should give him to the king and queen."

"It was the king and queen who wrote to us, granting us the authority to handle this manner as you see fit, given that it was _your _life the magister tried to end, and _your _mages he tried to hold for ransom."

"How...considerate of them." I sigh. “We’re doing this now?” Even as I say it, I see the others moving into the main hall, talking quietly. “Is there anyone you _didn’t _invite?”

“It is important that we show you have a firm hand and a confident power.”

“So…no jokes.”

Josephine grimaces. “No jokes.”

“Best behavior then…”

“Take the throne, Inquisitor," Josephine replies with a disgruntled sigh. 

I glance uncertainly at the others. Solas watches as he leans against the doorway to his study. Bull and Varric and everyone else piles in amidst several dozen soldiers.

I swallow thickly, almost choking like an idiot, and then move up to the dais. I sit uncomfortably, forcing myself to ease back into the chair. The doors to the dungeon open, and the guards come out with Alexius between them. He watches the ground as he walks, and I recall, once again, the version of the man from the future so distraught at losing his son. It saddens me to wonder where Felix is now, if he still lives.

I watch warily as Alexius approaches. Josephine clears her throat, and the room falls silent. When she speaks, her voice rings out powerfully. “You recall Gereon Alexius of Tevinter. Ferelden has given him to us as acknowledgement of your aid. The formal charges are apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination—on your own life, no less.”

The guards push Alexius forward. He stumbles a few times, standing weakly at the foot of the dais, his eyes staring unseeingly into the stone below my feet. Dorian pushes through the crowd gently, watching intently, as do Fiona and several mages.

“Tevinter has disowned and stripped him of his rank,” Josephine continues. “You may judge the former magister as you see fit, Inquisitor Lavellan.”

I resist the urge to make light of the situation. My usual defense mechanism won't be excused so readily in this matter. “Those are grave charges,” I murmur solemnly. “Do you have anything to say, Alexius?”

“I couldn’t save my son,” he says quietly, staring at the floor. “Do you think my fate matters to me?” I look down at that, closing my eyes briefly. 

“Will you offer nothing more in your defense?” Josephine wonders.

“You’ve won nothing,” the former magister mutters. “The people you saved, the acclaim you’ve gathered—you’ll lose it all in the storm to come. Render your judgement, Inquisitor.”

I watch him a moment, deciding carefully. The court waits in silence until I finally sigh out, folding my hands. “Your magic was theoretically _impossible_, Alexius. We could use people like you.” Several heads look up at me, including his. “Your sentence is to serve, under guard, as a researcher on all things magical for the Inquisition.”

Dorian looks away, smiling softly at the ground.

“No execution?” Alexius asks. He sighs, looking at the stone again. “Very well.”

The guards take Alexius’ arms again and escort him out. A quiet round of whispering goes through the hall, but the soldiers depart as well, returning to their duties.

“Very good, Inquisitor,” Josephine muses, smiling at me.

I get up from the chair as quickly as I can. “Gah, I don’t like doing that.”

She grins at me. “It didn’t show," she replies earnestly. "You did very well.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go…drink something. I think. Maybe water. Probably not.”

Josephine laughs. “Very good, Inquisitor,” she repeats. "Thank you for indulging me today. If you have any more questions, please feel free to come find me." With that, she curtsies to me and heads to her office. 

I resist the urge to run away from the dais and its chair, instead walking as normally through the hall as I can. Dorian meets me halfway, turning to walk with me. 

“Research was what always made him happiest,” he murmurs. “A bold decision,” he adds lightly. “Fair warning, if he suggests anything about time altering magic, don’t listen.”

I laugh quietly. “Good advice.”

“Drinks?”

“You read my mind.”


	23. The Valley of Dreams

I poke my head into Solas’ study to find him bent over his desk, taking rigorous notes. He reaches for another book, flipping through the pages slowly to find the right one before taking notes again.

I edge into the room slowly, leaning against the back wall casually. He glances up at me, smiling.

“Are you busy?” I whisper loudly. Obviously he is, but that doesn't seem to deter me. 

His smile turns into an amused smirk as he sets his quill down. “No,” he replies in a silky voice. “Come in.”

I push off the wall, clasping my hands behind my back. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” I add, looking around. His desk sits in the middle, papers and books scattered across it. A couch and another small desk are against the back wall. A beautiful rug lines the stone below the main desk, reds vibrant against the gray rock beneath it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, closing the books he was referencing.

“Sorry, did I interrupt?”

“Never.”

“_Never_?” I muse. “Hm…I’ll remember that the next time you’re in the middle of a spell or something.”

His lips purse into a smile that he fights. “Did you need anything?” he wonders, his voice warmer than I think he intends. 

“Need?” I repeat. “No…no, no, no, I don’t _need _anything. I was just wondering…well…_thinking_…” His expression grows more amused, and I clear my throat. “I was thinking about what you told me, about yourself and your studies. I was _wondering_ if you have some time, perhaps? I’d love to hear more.”

Solas’ expression softens. “You continue to surprise me,” he murmurs, his voice entrancing me once again. Does he do it on _purpose_? “Alright, let us talk.”

“Excellent,” I grin.

“Preferably somewhere more interesting than this.”

I grin again. “Lead the way, _hahren_.”

He chuckles at the title, shaking his head lightly.

I turn away with him and then blink, shielding my eyes from the sun. Solas leads us down the wide path through Haven, past the many tents and cabins. I should feel colder, but I don’t, despite the snow slowly drifting towards us. Solas guides me to the Chantry.

“Why here?” I wonder.

“Haven is familiar,” Solas replies. “It will always be important to you.”

I frown, chuckling once. “We talked about that already.”

He smiles at me warmly, leading me to the Chantry. I walk beside him, and he pushes open the main doors to the prison cell where I woke up so many months ago.

Solas stares down at the floor before meeting my eyes. “I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor.”

I laugh quietly. “Mm. That must have been quick. How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand?”

Solas smirks, amused. “A magical mark of unknown origin, tied to a unique breach in the Veil? Longer than you might think.”

I chuckle again, folding my hands behind my back to mimic his posture.

“I ran _every _test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

I grimace. “Well…Cassandra’s like that with everyone.”

Solas laughs, the sound bursting from him. My heart picks up, and I revel in the fact that I made him do it. “Yes,” he chuckles. I grin, suddenly wishing I was able to always pull such free laughter from him. He leads me back through the doors and into Haven’s courtyard. “You were never going to wake up. How could you, a _mortal _sent _physically _through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away from the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, nor she in me. I was ready to flee.”

I cock my head curiously. “The Breach threatened the whole world. Where did you plan to go?”

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its effects reached me…I never said it was a _good _plan,” he adds when he sees my reaction. Amusement freckles his eyes as he smiles again. He glances up at the Breach, watching it pulse brilliantly in the sky. “I told myself, one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” He looks back at me, and I suddenly recall our first meeting—him taking my hand and holding it up to the rift, sealing it while I stood there, gaping like an idiot. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he murmurs, echoing his first words to me.

I smile at him, shifting my weight.

“You had sealed it with a gesture…and then, I felt the whole world change.”

My smile spreads idiotically. “Felt the whole world change, mm?”

Solas’ expression softens again. “A figure of speech.”

“Oh, I’m aware of the metaphor,” I murmur, pursing my lips into a coy smile.

Solas searches my eyes, his own warm and mesmerizing. “You change…everything,” he murmurs.

My cheeks flame, and I look down sheepishly. I move my hand to his, lacing our fingers together before I pull him a step closer. Before I can talk myself out of it or second guess the decision, I move up to my toes and press my lips again his, raising my other fingers to his jaw. He hesitates, surprised, and I pull back, terrified I’ve offended him or misread something. My heart leaps in my throat, and I worry I've made the biggest mistake of my idiot life. 

Solas suddenly offers a playful smirk, his eyes a little dark, and he pulls me back to him. His hand grazes my cheek as his other arm winds around my back. I smile, raising my fingers to his arm when he kisses me. His lips move against mine slowly at first, and I feel my heart hammer erratically, thudding in my ears. Heat pools in my stomach, and I part my lips, sighing when his tongue delves into my mouth. I gasp in surprise, smiling softly. I tighten my grip on his arm, leaning into him. His kiss becomes searing, his fingers gentle on my cheek. His other hand presses to the small of my back, pulling me to him as closely as he can. I arch forward, raising my hands to his jaw. After a long, breathless moment, Solas pulls back, his eyes warm and bright. My breaths fall wildly as he admires me, and my cheeks flush again. He shakes his head softly, grinning. His eyes fall to my lips, and I smile as he leans into me again. His lips meld with mine gently, and I tighten my fingers on him, kissing him back fervently. He swiftly pulls away a second time, as if fighting with himself, and he presses his forehead to mine as our breaths race.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs, swallowing quietly. The sound makes my cheeks flush more, and I smile faintly. “It isn’t right…not even here.”

I open my eyes languidly. “Even here?” I repeat, my voice high and breathy. 

Solas lifts his head from mine, his thumb brushing against my cheek before he drops his hand. He steps back, appraising me again. “Where did you think we were?” he smirks, his eyes bright.

I blink, taken aback. Haven—no, Haven was buried—the Breach—how did I not—

“This isn’t real,” I realize slowly.

Solas’ smirk grows mischievous. “_That _is a matter debate…probably best discussed after you _wake up_.”

I gasp, jerking upright. I’m disoriented for a several long seconds before I recognize the balcony past the open doors of my room. The moon bathes my bed in a soft light. Back in Skyhold—no, not _back_—I never left.

My heart suddenly jolts in my chest, and I grin to myself idiotically.

Did I just—

Did _we_ just—

I fall back against my bed as an idiotic, girlish giggle slips through me embarrassingly. I roll over, pressing my face to the pillow and laugh again, my chest soaring. Gods, I just kissed Solas. I just _kissed _Solas. In the _Fade._ That _was _real, right? Gods, I hope that wasn't just a dream. _Was _it a dream? 

I grin into my pillow, suddenly overcome with the insane desire to go find Solas in his study, throw whatever book he’s probably studying aside, and kiss him until my lungs burst.

I fall asleep with every intention of doing just that, and I dream of far less enamoring things.

***

In the morning, I skip breakfast, far more interested in seeing Solas again. Perhaps that shouldn’t be the case, but after last night—which I’ve begun to worry really _was_ just a dream—I have to see him. Well…don’t _have _to…

I walk through the main hall sheepishly, deciding that if the door is closed, I’ll leave him be.

It’s standing wide open.

I see him leaning over his desk again, jotting something down. I watch him a moment from the hall, playing with my fingers before I roll my eyes at myself. I buck up my courage and giddily go in, desperate to play it utterly cool and totally nonchalant.

Solas glances up from his work when he hears me trip over the rug. I pretend like it didn’t happen, and his lips curl into a maddeningly crooked smile.

“Sleep well?” he murmurs with so much mischief that I’m certain it was real.

“Had some…interesting dreams,” I reply, trying to be coy and failing. I give up on the charade and grin. “I’ve never done anything like that before…on a number of levels.”

Solas offers one of his rare, quiet laughs, and I grin at the sound. He grows serious, bowing his head once. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered, and I should not have encouraged it.”

My heart drops, and I look down, shame burning my cheeks. _Gods, I’m such an ass!_

“S-Solas, I’m _so_ sorry—Gods, I-I thought you were interested—if I misread—I never meant to make you uncomfortable or—”

"No, Suledin,” Solas says quickly, his eyes softening. He rounds his desk, stopping inches away. He raises his hand to my cheek, his thumb arcing across my skin softly. “You have no need to apologize, I…” He runs his thumb across my cheek again and then drops his hand with a quiet sigh, his eyes conflicted. “It had been a long time…and things have always been…easier for me in the Fade.” His expression weakens, his eyes tightening a little as he looks down away from me. “I am not certain this is the best idea. It…could lead to trouble.”

I smile hesitantly. “I’m willing to take that chance if you are.”

“I…may be…yes…” He frowns, glancing up at me briefly. I’ve never seen him uncertain before. “If I could take a little time to think. There are…considerations.”

I try to stop my grin from spreading. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” he sighs in evident relief. He smiles up at me almost sheepishly. “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams.”

I smirk at him, chuckling delightedly as an odd sort of pride rushes through me.

His eyes fall to my smile, his own spreading softly. “But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, and if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking.”

I nod, grinning. “May I…” I gesture to the couch.

He closes his eyes briefly, his smile turning apologetic. “Of course. Forgive me.”

I walk the few steps to it and sit down, watching him do the same. It warms my chest when he sits close beside me.

“I was hoping to hear more about your time in the Fade,” I admit, pulling one of my legs up to face him. I lean against the arm of the couch behind me, folding my hands in my lap. 

“I would be happy to share it,” he murmurs, facing me in a similar way. "What would you like to know?"

“What about…” Solas smiles as I decide. “Tell me about a ruin you explored. Please,” I add with a broad smile that makes him chuckle softly.

Solas’ expression grows thoughtful, his eyes falling to trace my fingers as I play with them. He looks up at me again when he’s ready, his eyes trapping mine as he speaks. “I found the ruin of Barindur, a lost Tevinter city buried deep beneath a dead and barren wasteland. Volcanic ash had sealed it tight. In one dark moment, every living creature in the city sealed and smothered. They were statues in the ashes, like a mold made to recall the lost.”

I blink slowly, the weight of that discovery pressing down on me. “That’s…very sad…but incredible.”

“Indeed,” he murmurs. “I spent many hours there, reflecting.”

“What did you think about?” I wonder quietly.

He offers a thin smile. “The usual things one thinks about when confronted with a city encased in ash for all time.”

I chuckle, despite the dark situation. “Fair enough,” I allow. “You were in Tevinter?”

“For a short time. I was passing through.”

“I remember hearing about a traveler who tried to find Barindur—Brother...Genitivi, I believe he was called? He said he hadn’t found anything.”

“I, too, thought the city was gone, destroyed to the point where nothing remained. I walked the barren earth, searching for any sign of its existence. It was only when I slept that I saw the city buried deep beneath the molten rock.”

“Wow,” I breathe, smiling softly. “You’re probably the only person who knows that,” I realize.

He smiles at my hands. “Not anymore.”

My cheeks flame again, and I grin. “What about a spirit you’ve met? You’ve befriended so many.”

His expression turns thoughtful again before he smiles at me. “You may enjoy this one. I once met a friendly spirit who observed the dreams of village girls as love first blossomed in their adolescence. With subtlety, she steered them all to village boys with gentle hearts who would return their love with gentle kindness. The Matchmaker, so I called her. That small village never knew its luck.”

I make an involuntary sound of adoration, and then I sigh. I shake my head, looking away as my expression falls.

“What's wrong, lethallin?”

“It’s just so…wrong. We hear only of pride demons, envy demons—rage or hunger or fear. We learn to…despise the Fade and fear its residents.” I shake my head again, my eyes tracing the fabric of the couch in shame. “Until I met you, I was afraid of it, too.”

“You are different,” Solas says factually.

“How?” I sigh. “I didn’t know any of this.”

“No,” he allows, “but you thought to ask. You are…curious about the world around you. You accept what you don’t know. Rather than write them off, as so many have…you wish to learn of these kind and gentle spirits.”

“I wish more people knew this. I wish keepers and the Chantry and Circles, if they must exist, taught _this_ instead of fear, instead of hate.”

“Perhaps one day,” Solas murmurs softly. “Perhaps there will come a time when true understanding is universal, where spirits are not unknown entities to fear but curious beings we seek out for knowledge and friendship.”

I sigh again, looking at Solas. “I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re so…bright and curious and contemplative. You make _friends _with those who are shunned by others. You accept their knowledge and their form without judgement.” I shake my head, laughing weakly. “I am feeling very insignificant,” I add, “and _honored_ to know you, Solas. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

Solas searches my eyes. “Thank you for asking. So few do.” He reaches forward, hesitating briefly before he takes my hand. “And you are the furthest thing from insignificant.”

I smirk, my cheeks flaming. “You’re just saying that because they gave me a new fancy title.”

Solas chuckles softly, tightening his fingers on mine. “Would you like to know anything else?”

“You mentioned there were memories you found, too?”

Solas nods, thinking for a moment as he plays with my hand. His thumb traces along my dark skin, and I admire the contrast between his fingers and mine. He brushes over a small freckle near my pinky absently, his eyes far away. “I saw a savage human horde go marching toward the battlefront. They sang a soldier’s hymn to keep formation. The primal music shook the ground. These savage, unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry choir has mastered. Though their cause was all but hopeless, they sang songs that made the spirits weep.”

My eyes fall to our hands. I let the beauty of his words, the melody of his voice as well as the weight of the memory, settle heavily on me. 

“Solas…”

“Yes?”

“Do you…”

“What is it, lethallin?” he murmurs when I hesitate.

I blush a little, feeling almost foolish for the request. “Do you...think you could…maybe teach me?” I peek up at him nervously. 

He cocks his head. “Teach you…to do what, lethallin?”

“To…fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins. To walk the Fade with a clear mind, and to...” I smirk, recalling his words with startling clarity, “to see the dreams of lost civilizations."

I peek up at Solas again to see his expression change. His eyes look—sad, I realize with concern. He tightens his fingers on mine. “You are…” He closes his eyes briefly, breathing out as he looks away from me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says. He looks back at me and forces a smile. “You are…unlike anyone I’ve known in a…a long time. Of course I will teach you.”

“Really?” I grin.

“Yes,” he replies. His eyes tighten, and he releases my hand, hesitating before he stands.

“Do you think we could try it here?” I ask, standing, too. “This place must have a long history.”

He looks over at me. “I—no, I think we should find a place less…familiar. Skyhold is becoming your home. The next time we find ourselves near a suitable ruin, I will let you know, and we will enter the Fade together.”

I grin wider. “Really, really?”

He smiles again, but it looks tight. “Yes. Please forgive me, lethallin. I have…several things to do. But we shall certainly discuss this more later, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

He nods.

“Did I…say something?” I wonder hesitantly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not, lethallin,” he murmurs, his voice and eyes burning with sincerity. “I am—I have a great many things to—consider. You have…changed things.”

I frown slightly, growing more concerned.

He smiles. “No matter. I will see you tonight. You’ve done nothing wrong,” he adds when he sees my expression. He reaches forward hesitantly, letting his thumb brush against my cheek. “You’ve—merely shown me something I had not…considered,” he murmurs so softly that I wonder if he’s talking to me at all.

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

“Forgive me. My mind is rather…unfocused right now. I will see you tonight, lethallin.” He smiles at me tightly, moving to the door that leads to the courtyard. I watch him go worriedly.

“He’s certainly an odd little duck, isn't he?” a voice muses disinterestedly.

I look up to see Dorian leaning against the railing, a book in his hand. “Spying?” I murmur teasingly.

Dorian gapes and then scoffs. “I would hardly call it spying! This is _my _spot to read, as you well now. Come up here. I want to speak with you.”

“How...how much of that did you hear?” I ask, suddenly blushing.

Dorian flips a page. “Eh, nothing of note, just that you’re madly in love with him, he wants to think it over, and you want to walk the Fade the way he does.”

"_Dorian_!" I scoff. I should be angry, I suppose, or embarrassed, but something in his demeanor makes me laugh instead. “Gods, I will never live this down.”

“I should think not. Come, come, we can’t be shouting like this _all _day. We’ll wake the ravens! And _then_ where will we be?”

I smirk and shake my head. I glance back at the door Solas left through and take the stairs up to the library. I find Dorian has moved to stand back by a bookshelf, perusing the titles, his fingers running along the spines. 

“Good of you to come all the way up here,” he muses. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“Mm?”

“One moment, you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad—that should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head! ‘_What_?’ ‘You thought this would be _easy_?’” I cover my laugh with my hand quickly. “‘_No_, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill.’ ‘Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know. Can’t be helped.’" He whips around to me, raising an eyebrow. "Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

I smirk. “No, I think I can keep up.”

“Yes, you are rather sharp, aren’t you?”

“What’s this about, Dorian?” I chuckle.

He sighs heavily. “I always assumed the Elder One behind the Venatori was a magister, but this—is something else completely. In Tevinter, they say the Chantry’s tales of magisters starting the Blight are just that—tales. But here we are. One of those very magisters—a darkspawn.”

“And you sound disturbed.”

“Disturbed?” he repeats, disdainfully at first. He tries the word again, tasting it. “Disturbed. Yes. Perhaps I am. He _broke open _the Fade.”

“Alright, but then why are you angry?”

His expression grows solemn. “Because…the Imperium is my home. I knew what I was taught couldn’t be the _whole _truth, but I assumed there had to be a kernel of it. Somewhere. But no. It was _us _all along. _We _destroyed the world.” He looks away, his expression dark.

I frown at him, stepping closer. “You didn’t do anything. Those men did. A _thousand _years ago.”

He sighs. “True…except that one of them is up and walking around right now. And he nearly killed you—nearly killed us all. Not to mention, I have idiot countrymen who would happily follow him down that path again.” He frowns, looking up at me. “No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you, either. You know that, yes?”

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” I murmur.

“I _knew _there was something clever about you." He offers another sigh. "All I know is this—Corypheus _needs _to be stopped. Men like him ruined my homeland. I won’t stand by and let him ruin the world.” Dorian moves past me determinedly. He turns around, walking backwards. “Oh! And, congratulations on the whole _leading the Inquisition _thing.”

I grin at him, shaking my head. He smirks and winks, taking the stairs two at a time down to Solas’ study.

“Inquisitor Lavellan?”

I poke my head over the railing, looking down into the atrium.

“Inquisitor—ah, there you are,” the agent says, spotting me. “They’re waiting for you in the war room.”

“What? Oh shit—er, I mean, thank you, agent. I didn’t forget.”

I take the stairs two at a time as well, offering the man an amused smile when he tries to hide his laugh. I walk briskly through the hall, nodding at two dignitaries who were sent to meet with us in our new home. They talk quietly to each other, nodding at me in return.

I speed up to an all-our run when I reach the vacant hallway, stopping when I reach the doors to the war room. I gasp for air and then push the doors open casually.

“Inquisitor Lavellan!” Josephine greets warmly, bowing at the waist. “How are you finding Skyhold?”

“It’s magnificent,” I reply, still a little winded. “The idea that this place was just abandoned baffles me.”

“It does feel rather more than just fortuitous.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen nods.

I realize I like the ring of the new title. “Cullen, how are you?”

“Very well. Our warm room has certainly experienced an upgrade.”

“Far more fitting for top secret conversations,” I agree lightly. “Where’s Cassandra? Wait, did I _beat _her here?”

Cullen smirks as Leliana answers. “She said, and I quote, ‘I suppose she can handle it now.’”

“Aw…that’s so…sweet…? They grow up so fast.”

Cullen and Josephine chuckle. “Oh, Inquisitor,” the ambassador adds. “I’ve made some inquiries into the Imperial Court. The sooner we deal with the threat to the Empress, the better. The political situation in the empire is _dangerously _unstable. It will complicate matters.”

“Everything in the empire _complicates matters_,” Cullen sighs. “It’s the Orlesian national pastime.”

I cough to cover my laugh.

“Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Commander,” Leliana replies curtly, “but _we_ play for the highest stakes and to the death.”

Josephine glances between them. “The court’s disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We _must _be vigilant to avert disaster.”

“What did you mean about the political situation being dangerously unstable?” I ask. “How is it more dangerous than usual?”

“The empress is in the middle of a civil war. Her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard, seeks to take her throne by force. Leliana reports that a group of elves has been sabotaging both armies, drawing out the hostilities. Orlais holds Tevinter at bay. All of Thedas could be lost if the empire falls to Corypheus. Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It’s the perfect place for an assassin to hide.”

“A Grand Masquerade, mm?” I sigh. “And here I am with nothing to wear.”

Cullen snorts. “I’ll arrange for an invitation at your discretion, Inquisitor,” Josephine replies.

“Additionally, Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs. “Several prospective opportunities have come to our attention. A great many people across Ferelden and Orlais require our aid. We’ve received dozens of letters from King Alistair, several nobles, and a few guardsmen scattered through Ferelden, as well as a letter from your clan.”

“My clan?”

“Yes,” she answers, pulling a sealed scroll from her robes. She checks the stamp before offering it to me.

I open it quickly, scanning it.

_Da’len,_

_ I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Know that we are incredibly proud of you and your accomplishments. Yes, word reached us of your appointment to Inquisitor. The trust is hard earned, I’m certain. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it. _

_ Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well-armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We have settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship. _

_ Dareth shiral, _

_ Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

Fear grips me in an instant, and I look up to the others.

“What has happened?” Josephine asks worriedly.

“My—” I blink, clearing my throat. “My clan is under attack. Bandits…the fact that Keeper Deshanna is even informing me of this means that it’s…serious.”

Cullen looks at me concernedly. “We can send troops to give your clan much-needed support. They should arrive within a few weeks.”

Leliana shakes her head. “A few weeks? No, my skirmishers can arrive there in half the time and harass their flanks, giving the clan enough time to retreat while I uncover the truth behind the bandits’ attacks. Targeting the Inquisitor's clan is likely no mistake.”

“You said they are near Wycome, Inquisitor?” Josephine asks. “I know the man who rules over Wycome. He is a decent and honorable sort. I can send him a letter. It would arrive faster than either Leliana’s agents or Cullen’s troops, and he can dispatch his own men to help your clan. Time is, of course, of the essence.”

I look between them, fear tightening my chest. If Keeper Deshanna is writing, that must mean the attacks have been going on for some time. I know she wouldn't voluntarily involve me in this; she always has been stubborn in admitting defeat. They may not have a few weeks to spare. “Josephine,” I decide, my voice hoarse. “Please—they’re all I have, my family.”

“I understand completely,” Josephine nods firmly. “I will write the letter at once and send it off. Excuse me.” She bows and departs the war room briskly.

I stare at the map below my fingers for a moment, composing myself. "What...what does King Alistair say?” I ask.

Leliana hands another letter to me.

_Inquisitor, _

_ First things first: an apology. I offered the rebel mages safe harbor in Ferelden only to have them drive my uncle out of his town, so I’ll admit I wasn’t in the best of moods when I first met you. I just wanted everyone out of Redcliffe and didn’t care who was responsible for what. Now I wish I’d done otherwise. Isn’t that always the way? These cultists…Venatori, I think they’re called? We have them in the royal palace, or so I’m told. Like rats—but with magic and nasty sneers. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I need to find them and drive them out. Since the Inquisition knows all about them, I’m hoping you’ll help. Something something grateful something. _

_ Wait…did you just write that? You scribes do this on purpose, don’t you?_

_ King Alistair Theirin_

I smile faintly at the end of the letter. “You both have ideas?”

“I have just the agent in mind for this,” Leliana nods. “Allow me to send her to Denerim to quietly hunt down the Venatori spies.”

Cullen shakes his head. “We should send forces in. They can capture and stop the Venatori while also demonstrating a force of will and power for everyone to see.”

“Yes,” Leliana muses sardonically, “including the Venatori. We should keep our armies to ourselves until we _need _a show of force. Marching in there will only play our hand.”

“And if your agent loses track of the Venatori, we have nothing to go on. We need to have this done right.”

“My _agents_ are trained far more rigorously than your _soldiers,_ Commander,” Leliana replies curtly.

“We can use the spies to find out more about the Venatori when they’re captured—”

“Oh,” she scoffs, “and you think your _warriors_ will ensure they remain alive? My agent is precisely trained for this kind of infiltration and—”

“Unless they manage to let them slip through the cracks, and then we have to start from—”

“Okay, okay!” I snap loudly. “Leliana, send your agent. Cullen—” I say quickly, raising a hand when he tries to argue. “There’s another matter for your soldiers. Here,” I say pointing at the map. “I’ve been told this path is completely blocked by a cave-in, yes? We’ve been forced to divert around the mountain, losing days to travel. If your soldiers can clear the mountain pass, we can move troops and agents far more easily. If we set up a checkpoint, we’ll also have the only quick access to Skyhold sealed, protected, and watched. With a bell tower, we can be warned of anyone's approach well before they reach Skyhold.”

Cullen nods. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

“What else?”

“You recall Krem from the Iron Bull’s Chargers?” Leliana wonders.

“Of course.”

“He and his men have offered to return to Haven and…recover our people—give them proper burials. Would you like to send them?”

I look down, closing my eyes briefly. “That’s…very kind of him. Yes. Please. Thank Krem for me, if you see him first.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana replies quietly.

“Additionally,” Cullen says after a quiet moment. “Leliana received word from Scout Harding. She has been dealing with something in the Fallow Mire for months now. She’s requesting backup for an incident that she did not explain completely. We can send troops.”

“I’ll go,” I reply, shaking my head. “In the morning, I’ll gather the others and find her. She and I briefly discussed a matter concerning missing soldiers. I’ve been waiting to hear back from her.”

“Are you certain, Inquisitor? We have more than enough—”

“I’m certain. These people are my responsibility,” I say. “If there's something going on, I don’t want to risk more soldiers. No, I’ll handle this myself.”

“Another thing, Inquisitor,” Leliana adds. “This was a matter Josephine wanted to discuss with you. We need to extend our reach, begin establishing settlements and camps. With the Venatori spreading, we must ensure the safety of those caught in the crossfire. My agents can scout ahead and make those settlements. You merely need to point them in the right direction.”

I look at the map. “Where’s the highest activity?”

Leliana spends several minutes pointing out several places and describing their problems in great detail.

“Alright,” I murmur. “Send agents first to the Exalted Plains, Crestwood, Emprise du Lion, and the Hissing Wastes.”

“As you say,” Leliana nods. “now there is one more matter to discuss. It may take some time.”

I rest against the table, nodding up at her. “Let’s get to it, then.”


	24. Duty and Honor

I have a quiet lunch by myself on the battlements, admiring the beauty of the Frostbacks. Tomorrow we’ll begin travel to the Fallow Mire, so I have every intention of making today as lazy as possible.

When I’m finished eating, I head down to the lower courtyard and spot Cole sitting in the grass by himself. He bends over it, searching the dirt for something. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, his fingers still, and I see a worm wriggling in the freshly turned earth. Cole's eyes widen under his hat, and he quickly covers it again, moving to dig in another spot. I smile at that, and then I see Vivienne, Cassandra, and Solas arguing a dozen or so feet away from Cole. I'm ready to leave them to it when I hear Vivienne’s snide comment. I frown and march over, crossing my arms angrily. 

“That _thing _is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet,” she says condescendingly, offering Solas a supercilious look. “It has no business being here.”

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate?” Solas wonders calmly, his hands folded behind his back with his usual casual grace.

I resist the urge to smirk as I stop beside him. Vivienne offers him a cold stare in response.

“What’s this then?” I demand.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra greets, sounding somewhat drained. “I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his unusual abilities.” She sounds like she regrets bringing it up at all.

“He can cause people to forget him,” Solas responds, “or even fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It _seems_,” he adds, glancing at me, “that Cole is a spirit.”

My eyes widen, and I turn to look at the boy as he plays with a butterfly. He smiles when it lands on his finger. He brings it close to his eyes, admiring it carefully. When it flies over him, he watches it go in awe, catching his hat when it nearly falls off.

“It is a demon,” Vivienne says coldly.

I glare at her.

“If you prefer,” Solas replies, “although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

I nod in agreement. “Cole warned us about the attack on Haven. More than that, he encouraged Roderick to show you all the path out. Without his help, so many more would have died. All of us, in fact.”

“And what will its aid cost us, I wonder,” Vivienne replies, casting her cool stare at me. “Making deals with demons is a swift path to an early grave.”

“Does he really look like a demon to you?” I demand, gesturing to the boy as he now picks dandelions from the grass.

Vivienne narrows her eyes at me. “A demon’s greatest trick is convincing the world he isn’t one. Demons appear in all shapes and sizes, my dear, or did your keeper fail to mention? Had you received a less experimental education, perhaps you would know that,” she offers flippantly.

I scoff angrily, preparing to snap back.

“In fact,” Solas says firmly before I can, “Cole’s nature is not so easily defined.”

“Speak plainly, Solas,” Cassandra implores tiredly. “What _are _we dealing with?”

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, even monstrous.”

“But Cole looks like a young man. _Is _it possession?”

“No,” Solas answers definitively. “He has possessed nothing and no one, and yet he appears human in all respects.” Solas looks at me. “Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest we allow him to do so.”

I nod in agreement. “Absolutely. He saved our lives,” I add, looking at Vivienne.

“And when he demands something in return?” she asks.

I breathe out angrily, shaking my head. I turn to find the boy, but he’s gone.

“Where did he go?” Cassandra says suddenly. “He was right…”

I look over Solas’ shoulder to see Cole approach the medical tents. I press my hand to Solas’ arm thoughtlessly as I move past him, and he joins me.

“Haven,” Cole murmurs softly when he sees us. “So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape.” He closes his eyes. “Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine, but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to—I’m dying, I’m—” A soldier across the campfire falls limp against his bedroll. “Dead.”

I hesitate, looking at Solas before returning to Cole. “Are—you alright, Cole?”

He nods, walking forward. Solas and I follow. “Every breath slower, like lying in a warm bath. Sliding away. Smell of my daughter’s hair when I kiss her goodnight.” Cole looks down at a soldier on a cot. The man’s eyes slide closed. “Gone.” Cole bows his head and then looks at another warrior, walking to her. “Cracked, brown pain. Dry, scraping. Thirsty.” Cole kneels down. “Here,” he murmurs, offering a canteen.

The soldier takes it, sipping weakly. “Thank…you.”

Cole looks up at me. “It’s alright. She won’t remember me.”

“What…” I cock my head at him curiously, softening my tone. “What are you?”

“I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes…but I made friends, too. Then a templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different but…stronger. I can feel more. I can help.”

I step closer to him, trying to get him to meet my eye. He peeks at me and looks away. I smile softly, stepping back. “If you’re willing, the Inquisition could use your help.”

“Yes. Helping. I help the hurt, the helpless. There’s someone…” He steps around several soldiers, coming to a man curled on the ground. “Hurts. It hurts. It _hurts_. Someone, make it stop hurting. Maker, please—” Cole pulls a dagger from his belt. He looks down, his hat shielding his face. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony. He wants mercy. Help.”

I open my mouth to speak, looking down at the man on the ground, at the tears pooling on the bridge of his nose as he curls in on himself weakly. “Alright,” I whisper. “Help him.”

Cole kneels down. “It’s alright,” he murmurs softly. I look down as he offers the man a swift, merciful death and then stands. “I want to stay…”

I blink and he disappears. Movement on the upper courtyard catches my eye, and I see him moving up the stairs to the battlements.

Solas turns to me, offering a radiant smile. “Thank you, lethallin,” he murmurs, bowing his head softly. He turns and walks away.

I glance over to see Vivienne glare at me before she, too, departs.

I sigh heavily, heading towards the stairs before I spot Cullen giving orders to a few soldiers. I fold my hands behind my back and head over to him.

“…men to scout the area. We need to know what’s out there,” he says.

“Yes, sir,” one of the soldiers replies. The woman departs with two of the others quickly.

“Commander,” a new soldier calls, arriving before me. “New recruits have been assigned temporary quarters.”

“Very good,” Cullen nods, leaning over to a document someone else holds out to him. He scans the words, speaking as he reads. “I’ll need an update on the armory as well.” He signs the paper, looking up to see the soldier still waiting. “Now,” he adds.

The man jerks. “Right! Yes, of course, now.”

Cullen's eyes meet mine, and he glances at the others. “Give us a moment,” he says to them, leaning back against the stone railing. They move away from us, and Cullen sighs, speaking to me now. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an archdemon—or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…” He shakes his head, looking away. 

“Do you _ever _sleep?” I wonder.

Cullen chuckles softly, sweeping a hand over his eyes tiredly. He runs his fingers through his thick hair, sighing before he rests both hands on his sword pommel. “I don’t think so.” He sighs once more. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw…and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is well underway. Guard rotations have been established; Iron Bull offered some advice in that area. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor,” he promises, looking at me seriously. 

I look down. “How many were lost?” I murmur quietly. I lean against the railing beside him, my arm brushing against his.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold,” he answers softly. “It could have been worse…Moral was low, but…has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

I give a humorless chuckle. “Inquisitor Lavellan…it sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Cullen replies, looking down at me. “It suits you. You’re a good leader.”

I snort quietly.

“I’m serious. You do the most important thing a leader can do.”

“Boost morale with witty banter?”

Cullen smirks, rolling his eyes. “_Inspire_,” he corrects.

“Well, you’re the superstar here. You responded so quickly to the attack at Haven. You didn’t even _hesitate_. Without that, so many more would have died. You’re an excellent commander. I’m honored to have your help and guidance, and I won’t take it for granted.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen says, glancing down at me again. “I appreciate that.” He stands, looking at me seriously. “I will do everything I can to ensure the security of our people. You have my word.”

“I’ve never doubted that. What _does _concern me...do I also have your word that you’ll take a _break_ every once in a while, kick your feet up, have a meal?”

Cullen chuckles. “That, I can’t promise.”

I sigh theatrically, pushing off the railing. “Well,” I muse, patting his shoulder as I pass, “at least you’re honest. Try not to throttle anyone when you get too tense.”

I glance back as I climb the stairs to see Cullen snort and roll his eyes, waving the soldiers back over with one hand.

I grin and move to the upper courtyard. I see Krem and Iron Bull practicing at the other end. Cassandra watches them, calling the occasional suggestion.

Sera comes up beside me, skipping lightly. “So, Inquisitor,” she hums. “It _is _Inquisitor now, right? Remember that war we talked about stopping? Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows? Yeah?” She grips my arm, pulling me to a hard stop. “_Well that’s not a frigging archdemon now, is it_?” she exclaims.

“Whoa,” I say, devoting my attention to her.

“Andraste, what’d I step in?” she mutters.

“C’mon,” I say, nudging her. “We didn’t know about the dragon, but you knew how I got the job, right? This is a weird one. Corypheus is a surprise, but—”

“No, a surprise would be, ‘oh, I stepped in dog shite.’ _No one _says, ‘_oh_, a magical god monster, I’m surprised.’ _Impossible _things aren’t surprising. ‘N yeah, I knew what everyone _said_!” she exclaims. I grow serious when I see her eyes are genuinely afraid. “But people believe all sorts of shite when they’re scared! Swear at a farmer, ‘n you’ve cursed his crops. Spill the salt, ‘n you’re dead by dawn! Dance through town in a goat’s head, ‘n children people _never had _go missin’!”

“Sera, Sera, slow _down_—what’s wrong?”

She sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping. “It’s _got _to be nonsense, doesn’t it? We’re kind’a screwed if it isn’t! I mean, that Coryphy-thing—a magister, right? Story is, he _cracked _the Golden City…but that’s a hazy dream, right? If not, then the seat of the Maker? Real thing. A seat needs a butt, so the Maker—real thing. Fairy stories about the start _and end _of the world—_real things_. It’s too much! Isn’t it? I just want to forget all this so I can go back to shootin’ arrows ‘n kickin’ nobles!”

I put my hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, Sera.”

She sags again, frowning at the ground under her lopsided bangs. “What I want is to get everything back to business as usual. A nice, simple system with simple problems. It’s ridiculous, right? It _can’t_ be true.”

“Keep calling it nonsense,” I offer. “That perspective will keep the Inquisition grounded.”

“Oh, I can do that,” she smirks. “Sure could use a _few_ more people shoutin’ no. We fight, the bad things go away, everyone calms down, and everything goes back to normal. A nice, well-paid normal…”

“You know, you’re starting to not sound _completely _crazy,” I tease.

“I know, right!” she giggles, relaxing. “Scary, innit?” she breaths out heavily, nodding. “Thanks for…Inquisiting. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes,” I nod with a smile.

She nods and breathes out again, heading for the tavern. I watch her go a moment and then turn to head into the main hall. I don’t get far before Vivienne stops me. I sigh impatiently, already full-up on her condescension for the day.

“It was a mistake to use Haven as a base of operations,” she says, gazing at me evenly. “The town was _completely_ indefensible.”

I glare at her. “A lot of our people just died, you know. You can throw blame at me later.”

I try to push past her, but she swivels her hips, shifting to stand before me again. I sigh heavily, glaring at the battlements across from us. “_Now _is always the time, my dear. The past cannot be changed, and tomorrow may never come. You left yourself vulnerable to attack. It was a miscalculation, one I’m sure you won’t repeat. But the enemy struck a serious blow against you and the Inquisition. We must recognize that. _You _must.”

“I’m not going to forgive or forget what happened at Haven. Corypheus will answer for what he’s done.”

“You’re angry,” Vivienne notes. “Good. Anger can save you when everything else is gone. Just make sure you put it to good use. Our enemy advances, Inquisitor. We must not sit idly by,” she adds, disdain coloring her voice. “Act first and teach them to fear us. You can become the leader the faithful require. But you must do it soon.” She turns to leave and glances back. “And…do try to be more serious when in the company of your soldiers. We wouldn’t want them to think you were a jester, now would we, my dear?”

I scoff as she leaves. Blackwall makes a face as he passes. He stops and watches Vivienne go. “She’s literally one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” I complain, “and she’s always so _mean_! Gah!”

Blackwall nods with a sigh. “She’s a tough nut. Come,” he murmurs. “Let’s walk the ramparts. I want to examine our fortifications.”

I turn and follow him. He mounts the stairs quickly, chuckling when he turns back to see me several stairs below him.

“Fenedhis—was your—primary training—with the Grey Wardens—spent climbing—every stair—in Thedas?”

He laughs again but doesn’t reply as we reach the top. He leans against the stone wall overlooking the frozen lake below, and I move beside him, glancing down warily before I back up a step.

“Long way down,” I muse, clasping my hands behind my back.

“We’ll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away.”

“He thinks he’s beaten us,” I murmur. “By the time he finds us, we’ll be legion.”

“I know soldiers,” Blackwall replies. “I know _our _soldiers. Corypheus made a hundred enemies when he kicked down our door. Let him come. I swear I’ll take the twisted bastard down, even if I have to die to do it.”

“I’m grateful for your support. Not too keen on the whole dying thing, but the loyalty part is—” I offer a thumbs up.

“It’s my job, isn’t it?” Blackwall smirks. “Killing darkspawn.” He looks down, his expression softening. “Look, in spite of it all, there _is_ hope. The people flock to your banner. They _believe _in you.” He turns, walking a few steps before he stops. “Tell me honestly,” he says. “_Are _you what they say you are? Andraste’s chosen?”

“No,” I murmur. “I’m not her Herald, and I can't speak for her.”

“Does it even matter?” he wonders, looking back at me. “Don’t you see what you are to them? Without you, they’d be consumed by despair. We all would. They _need _you to be Andraste’s messenger. It gives them hope. The truth doesn’t matter.” His expression darkens somewhat, and he sighs. “Oh, listen to me talk,” he grumbles. “Your time is valuable, and I’ve wasted enough of it. We’ll talk later.”

With that, Blackwall turns and heads back down the stairs, taking them with annoying ease.

I sigh and walk the battlements, moving through Cullen’s empty office and down the bridge to the library. Inside, I wave to Dorian and head up to the rookery. I hesitate when I reach the wooden floor, realizing I've interrupted. 

Cullen hands something to Leliana. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice thick with the apology.

“So am I,” he replies softly. He turns and passes me, nodding somewhat vacantly.

“The names of those we lost,” Leliana explains, pocketing the scroll. She turns to her window, overlooking the mountains. “You must blame me for this.”

“We all saw who attacked us. We know exactly who to blame.”

Leliana shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly. I walk the few steps to her side. “I keep wondering if I could have done something different. When the first of my lookouts went missing, I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they’d stayed in the field, they could’ve bought us more time.”

“With their lives,” I say, shaking my head.

“I was afraid to lose my agents, and instead, we lost Haven.”

“More likely, they would have stayed in the field, died, and we would have lost Haven anyway.”

“You don’t know that,” Leliana argues heatedly.

“Neither do you,” I reply quietly.

“Their lives could have bought Haven a small chance! My people _know _their duty. They _know _the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their _lives_.”

“Our men are not disposable,” I say firmly. “Your instincts were right. Their lives matter.”

Leliana looks at me, her eyes lost. She turns back to the mountains. “I…I need to think.”

“You can talk to me,” I murmur. “Anytime.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she replies flatly.

I hesitate a moment, uncertain. I step back, moving the way I came slowly.

I spend an hour walking the battlements, considering Leliana’s words and hoping she doesn’t mean them. 

By the time I find myself heading back into the main hall, evening is falling. I pass Varric at a table near a fire, writing quickly. Immediately, I want to hit my head against a wall.

“Shit,” I sigh. “Varric, I’m sorry, I completely forgot about meeting your friend. This morning, Cullen told me about something in the Fallow Mire, and I told them I’d go check it out.”

“No worries, Snow,” he replies, waving a hand. “My friend’s been delayed. It’ll be a few weeks yet, possibly more or less. She's never very specific," he adds with a disgruntled yet fond sigh. "We should have plenty of time to go and come back before she arrives.”

“We?” I muse, smiling.

“Surely, you’re not leaving your trusty dwarf behind to fall into the perils of paperwork?”

“Would I be so cruel?” I laugh.

“I hope not.”

“Bright and early, then.”

“Bianca and I will be there.”

I grin at him and move into Solas’ study.

I spent the evening with him, eating dinner slowly. We talk for so long that the hall is empty and our food is cold before I realize the late hour. I reluctantly part ways with him, eager to hear more of his stories. He gives me a warm smile, his thumb brushing against my cheek before he departs. I watch him go, sighing quietly, and then I turn and push through the door to my tower, smiling the whole way up.


	25. Never Again Shall We Submit

We spend days riding out to the Fallow Mire. Master Dennett offered us the pick of the lot, and by us, I mean me. Dennett recommended war horses for Cassandra and Blackwall and a purebred for Varric. He gave me a long list of reasons as to why, but I honestly lost track of what he was saying when I caught sight of a pair of beautiful red harts. He admitted they were gifted to the Inquisition "by some noblewoman" and that he had been planning to sell them to a specialist unless I wanted them. Naturally, I accepted, offering one to Solas. He appeared to enjoy the animal, patting it often as we traveled.

The ride is the only enjoyable part of the Fallow Mire. We spend a long, never-ending night tracking down the missing scouts weighted down by humidity and the inescapable stench of death. The latter of which, I was informed upon arrival, was the result of a plague. Harding informs us of a hostage situation with a chief’s son from the local Avvar tribe. We run into so many rifts along the way to the Avvar settlement that my hand is throbbing in agony to the point where I nearly ask Solas to fix it in front of everyone. I only barely manage to hold on, grimacing often with a very short fuse.

We track down the agents—relieved to find them alive—only to be challenged _again _to a one-on-one duel. I irritably accept, due to the swords at our soldier’s throats. The chief’s son wields a hammer bigger than my entire body. I’m rewarded with a crushed hand, a twisted ankle, and the lives of every single Inquisition soldier imprisoned—all of whom stumble and carry each other, alive and thankfully unharmed.

By the time we’re back on the road, I’ve resolved myself to never set foot in a bog again, something with which I imagine my travel companions agree wholeheartedly. Considering Varric’s occasional complaint as he pulls mud off his jacket and Cassandra’s foul mood, I think it’s safe to say no one will miss the swamp.

The day after we return to Skyhold, Varric informs me that his friend has sent another letter, indicating another delay. I can tell he wants to be annoyed, but there's an amused glint in his eye that makes me insanely curious to meet this mysterious friend. Clearly, whoever she is, she's important to him. 

In the morning, I'm on my to the war room to check in with the others when Leliana catches me first.

“Inquisitor,” she calls in the main hall, her voice drawing several noblemen's eyes. I pull my hand back from Josephine's office door and turn around. “While you were gone, Cullen and I arranged passage for a woman who believes she can be of use to the Inquisition.”

“Oh?” I muse, leaning against the stone column beside me. 

“An Arcanist named Dagna. My agents are escorting her here now. She should arrive within the week.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

“Were you on your way to the war room?”

“I…was?”

“Josie is still awaiting word on several matters, and Cullen is training in the yard. Perhaps we can meet later?”

“Of course,” I nod.

“How was the Fallow Mire?”

“Terrible. I’ll never set foot there again.”

Leliana offers a quiet chuckle. “Scout Harding was very relieved and pleased with your work. She sent a very complementary report. Thank you for everything you did.”

“Of course,” I reply. “I was happy to do it.”

She smirks. “Perhaps not _happy_, but I am relieved, nonetheless. We shall reconvene later, when we have more to report.” She adds the last part as she walks away, and I'm left to wave and holler after her.

“Okay, bye, Leliana!”

I snap my fingers, deciding what to do when I shrug and choose my favorite pastime. I head into Solas’ study, stopping short when I enter. My breath catches as I stare at the walls around the atrium.

Solas finishes the last touch on a piece, stepping back to admire his work.

“Solas,” I breathe.

He looks back at me. “Lethallin,” he greets, a smile in his voice. 

“_Gods_,” I say, marveling. “It’s—” A dozen words compete for the privilege. “_Amazing_! Did you—do this?” I gasp stupidly. Obviously, he did.

“To mark your accomplishments,” he nods, looking up at the murals adorning the walls with me. “A record of everything you’ve done.”

I step closer to the first one that caught my eye. The Inquisition’s sword takes up the background, colors vibrant and piercing, the fresco’s style unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Wolves sit around the blade, howling up at the sky, their depictions so honest that I can almost hear them. They remind me of the wolves that shepherded me to the Inquisition when I was lost, and I smile breathlessly.

In another, a figure stands tall against two distinct backgrounds. On the man’s right shoulder, a long snake crawls—the Tevinter sigil. Behind it, a thin bridge connects the land to a castle on a cliff, but the background is red—foreboding and bloody. Over the left shoulder, the bridge is a brilliant green, the castle black against a pale blue sky.

“Recruiting the mages,” I realize in awe, grinning. Solas watches me as I start over at the first panel, walking to it as if in a daze.

The pattern is triangular, diamond-shaped, and red. In the sky, a red orb sits. Artfully painted eyes plaster the sky around the orb, flowing delicately up to the ceiling. Something white stabs up into the orb, exploding on impact. Stars seem to rain down from the orb as the light grows impossibly more brilliant at the ground. It phases and blends perfectly into the next, the sword with the wolves. That, too, moves flawlessly into the one beside it, depicting our experiences with Alexius. The next mural reveals a dark figure rising, an orb painted near its center. The figure's face is obscured, but I recognize him immediately. The mountains beyond reveal a reddened sky—a reminder of what’s at stake. Below the figure, a silhouette of a structure on fire—Haven. The paint is still wet in places as I stare.

“Solas,” I gasp. “It’s—how—I—_Solas_—”

“Do you like it?” he murmurs, coming to stand beside me as he considers the portraits from this perspective.

“I—I _love _it! It’s—remarkable! I don’t even—_Solas_!”

He smiles softly, his eyes scanning the art.

“How did you—I didn’t even know you were so—” I can’t pick a sentence to stick with, so I give up. I walk around the murals, admiring them up close and from afar, finding new details each time I pass. When I’m satisfied, I stop beside Solas again, unable to stop grinning. “This is…exceptional. _Thank _you,” I murmur, looking up at him.

His eyes find mine, his expression soft and beautiful. He doesn't reply, but his smile makes my fingers itch to reach out to him. 

I break from his eyes with difficulty, returning once more to the murals. I shake my head, marveling again. “Guess I’d better be careful to not screw up. I’d hate to disappoint the paintings.”

Solas laughs suddenly, the sound tumbling from him quietly but enchantingly. I grin, realizing he sometimes sounds so vaguely surprised when he laughs, like he didn’t expect the joke. We’ll certainly have to change _that_.

I breathe out heavily, shaking my head again as my eyes scan the works, transfixed. “This is truly…I don’t even know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them,” he murmurs, his voice soft with his smile.

I turn to him, resisting—with all my willpower—the urge to hug him. I settle for reaching out hesitantly. He looks at my hand, his smile growing as he accepts it. He intertwines our fingers and pulls me gently with him to the couch. I sit down, turning slightly to admire the mural behind us.

“See, now, this is gonna become a problem,” I muse. “I’m gonna come in here to talk tactics and strategy, and then I'll look up and get all distracted.”

Solas laughs again softly, his eyes admiring me briefly before he glances down at our fingers. His thumb brushes gently against my knuckles, his caress warm enough to make me think of our moment in the Fade.

I make an honest effort to distract myself. “Where did you learn to do this? _When _did you learn to do this?”

He smiles. “I was much younger when I learned,” he answers vaguely.

“Who taught you?”

“I taught myself.”

“_What_?” I demand, pretending to be angry. “That is unacceptable. I tried to paint once with three—_three_—hahrens guiding me, and it turned into a jumbled, angry mass of brown.”

Solas chuckles, his eyes trapping mine with a warmth that makes me lightheaded.

“I hope you’re prepared for me to sit and stare at you the next time you do a mural. You’ll be trying to concentrate, and I’ll just be hovering on top of you, getting in your way, studying every brushstr—”

Solas’ laugh and my joke are cut off by someone entering the door to the study. I glance up to see Leliana.

“Inquisitor,” she says quietly.

I smile. “Hey, Leliana, look at what—” I stop, my heart pounding when I see the expression on her face. “What—what’s wrong?”

“May I speak with you?”

“Y-yes?” I glance up to see Dorian leaning over the railing, his book forgotten as he looks down curiously. “What’s—”

“Where is she?” Josephine asks from the main hall.

Leliana turns around sharply. “Josie, not now—”

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” the ambassador says, approaching me.

I stand jerkily from the couch when I see her tears, releasing Solas’ hand as fear grips me. Solas stands beside me. “What’s—going on?” I ask, my voice tight. “What happened?”

“Inquisitor,” Josephine pleads, her voice high. “I tried—I’m so sorry, Inquisitor—I thought I could—Please—”

“Josie,” Leliana snaps loudly, pulling her back. “Wait outside.” Josephine refuses, standing beside her, her hands shaking.

“Leliana,” I ask, my voice turning into a frightened whimper. “What has happened—what is this? Please just tell me. What's going on?”

I glance up at Dorian again; the concern dotting his eyes does nothing to alleviate my growing anxiety. I raise my hand to Solas’ arm, terrified.

“May we speak in private?” Leliana asks.

My hands shake more. “What is it,” I breathe. Terrified tears brim my eyes, and my heart clenches in fear. I know what she's going to say suddenly, and I pray that I'm wrong. 

Leliana hesitates, glancing at Solas, Dorian, and Josephine before she looks at me directly. “A raven came,” she says quietly, her voice firm. “The nobleman from Wycome arrived too late.” My heart stops. “His men discovered what was left of the camp.” Everything stops. “I’m so sorry, Inquisitor.” My ears ring.

“No,” I say, almost scoffing at the notion even as tears slip down my cheeks. “No, that’s—that's absurd. You...you got it wrong—that’s—no,” I say again firmly as Solas looks at me.

Leliana extends something, and I look down to see the scroll unsealed, its stamp missing.

I reach for it, unfurling it. The handwriting is scrawling and imperfect, rushed and almost unintelligible. So unlike her. 

_Da’len, _

_ I have little time. Assan has joined the Creators. Many have. Our brothers and sisters. I know you did your best. You are the last of clan Lavellan. Our strength runs through you. Mala suledin nadas. Never again shall we submit. _

A strangled breath escapes me. Assan—no. No, no, no.

I shake my head, a groan slipping from me as tears flood my vision. No—my brother, my best friend—no, this is—a dream—this isn’t—he just got married—Keeper Deshanna is training a new First, a young girl named—no—no, no—this can’t be—

I look up, zeroing in on Josephine in the corner. Anger suddenly blinds me, and I cling to it, terrified to allow anything else. “You,” I gasp, unable to catch my breath, “you—you told me you would save them!” I shout, my own voice scaring me. “You said you would _help _them! _I __trusted you! I trusted you with their lives_!”

Leliana catches me when I lunge at the ambassador—I don’t know what I intended to do.

“It isn’t her fault,” Leliana says. “She tried.”

Josephine raises her hands to her face, crying.

“I _trusted _you!” I scream. “How could you—” My chest tightens. Assan—“How could you _do this_?” I scream nonsensically, grief blinding me. “You _promised _you’d help!”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana says loudly.

I push off her, backing away. I cover my face with my hands, the realization sinking in.

“Suledin,” Solas whispers, stepping to me. 

“No,” I whisper, my chest constricting. “No, no, no—” I can’t be the only one. I look up at Josephine, horrified. “I trusted you,” I cry. “You’ve killed them all.”

Josephine leaves the room hurriedly, her cries marking her departure.

I feel sick. Weak. I'm shaking, and I regret my words, but I won't take them back, because it has to be her. It has to be her fault—if it isn’t, it can only be—

“No,” I whimper, pressing my hands to my eyes. “No, no, no—”

“Suledin,” Solas breathes.

I start to turn away, to march right out the front gates of Skyhold and never come back, but sobs are pulled from me, and my knees give out. Solas catches me, letting us slide to the floor. His arms encircle me, and my own cries deafen me.

Images of Assan race through my mind, the last hopeful words of his latest message. My brother, my friend—my people. My family—_Mythal, how could you let this happen_—

I don’t know how long Leliana stayed there. I don’t know what Dorian did. I don’t even hear Solas’ words as he whispers them to me. Sobs wrack through me, echoing loudly back to my ears.

Everyone I’d ever know—my family—my clan—my people—all of them—

This can't be happening. This can't be real. 

My mind races with memories; they spin and swirl in my mind, disorganized, clawing at my chest with knives. 

Assan's letters—his wedding, his teasing words—Keeper Deshanna's voice when she tucked me into bed, the stories she told when I was scared or sad—the look on her face when I got my vallaslin, the pride in her eyes—her hands carefully branding my skin with the honor of my people—Assan's crooked smile, his sly grin when he got into trouble—his long red hair, sharp green eyes, always smiling, always teasing—The child Keeper Deshanna intended to make her First, a girl of only ten—Lloren and his carefully crafted bows, Assan watching him from afar with that dreamy look in his eye—his letter that said he fought with the keeper, demanding to be allowed to come to see me—the flower he sent, my favorite that only blooms in the winter—his laughter in my ears, his fingers tugging on my sleeve—me, begging him to ask Keeper Deshanna for one more plate of her dessert; she wouldn't give it to anyone else, but she would if he asked—his hand shoving me a step playfully when I tease him—the tears in his eyes when his mother died and the way he laughed when he thought Lloren might notice—

I cry until my breaths are ragged, until my eyes hurt and my brain throbs and my hands are damp, and then I cry some more.

Solas’ arms never weaken. He holds me to him, kneeling around me to keep me close. I must stain his clothes and hurt his ears, but he never releases me, and his hand never stops moving soothingly against my back. Hours must pass, but he doesn't falters.

When my cries finally die down, I lean against Solas wearily, tears slipping down my cheeks silently. My throat is too raw and my head aches too much for anything more. I wipe my face and sit up, pressing my hand to my lips. I reach for the letter I dropped. I feel so drained and exhausted as I can barely see it. With shaking fingers, I curl the letter back up and press it to my chest. I breathe against my fingers, looking up at Solas blearily. His hands move down my arms, his expression tight with sympathy and pain—so tight that it makes me want to cry all over again. I close my eyes, my forehead aching from where it’s been pinched. 

“Snow,” Varric murmurs. I look up to see him standing in the doorway, his expression similar to Solas’.

“Ir abelas, lethallin,” Solas whispers softly.

I hang my head in my hands, crumpling again. I breathe as evenly as I can, pinching my nose as I part my lips for more air.

“They were my whole world,” I cry, my voice a shrill whine. “My family…Everyone is gone…They're all...I have nothing left.” I sob again, falling forward. 

"Suledin,” Solas says, his voice strained as he catches me. “I’m so sorry, Suledin. I’m so sorry.”

Whispered cries break through me, my head pounding so hard I can't see, and I cling to Solas’ arms, my chest so tight that I can't breathe.

***

I stare out over the icy mountains across from me between the posts in the railing. The wind rustles at my clothes, pulling at my hair. My eyes are swollen, and my throat aches. The moon shines brightly in the snow, reflected back in small glints. The slope of the mountain curves down past the ledge of my balcony until I can’t see it from where I sit against the stone wall. I look up at the stars, admiring the way they scatter again the navy of the sky. The lights behind me blot some of the constellations out, but they are still magnificent.

I hear footsteps in the room behind me, but I don’t move.

“Suledin?” Solas calls softly. “Forgive me. I knocked, but—Suledin!”

I turn my head up to him when he emerges on the balcony. He disappears and reappears quickly with a blanket. He kneels beside me, pulling it around my shoulders swiftly.

“What are you doing out here?" he demands, his voice alarmed. "It’s freezing!”

I blink slowly. “Oh—I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t realize.”

“Suledin, come inside.” He pulls me to my feet gently, wrapping the blanket around me more. He rubs my arms and pauses to close the doors to the balcony before he leads me to the fire. I sit on the floor willingly, staring into the small flames. Solas lights a flame with his fingers and tosses it into the woodpile, and the fire explodes, its heat washing over me instantly. Shivers break out across my arms and back in reaction, hurting faintly under the blanket. 

Solas sits beside me, rubbing my arms. He pulls another blanket off the couch, throwing it over my lap. “What were you doing?”

“I was just…looking at the stars," I reply, my voice quiet. "It’s okay. I’m not cold.”

He checks my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re freezing,” he disagrees unhappily, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

I frown faintly again. “Oh. Sorry.”

Solas looks up at me, but I can’t manage to look away from the flame. “Will you talk to me?”

“About what?” I whisper.

“What would you do, if you could travel to the Free Marches?”

I look down, recalling his venomous words when we first met. _Perhaps we should plant a tree_.

“It’s okay, Solas,” I murmur softly, looking at the fire again. “You don't have to do that. I know you don’t want to hear Dalish rites.”

Solas lowers his head before lifting his hand to my chin. He gently makes me face him, looking at me so softly that my eyes flood and my chin trembles. I close my eyes, feeling the tears slip down my cheeks before I look at him again. “Ir abelas, lethallin,” he whispers. “For your loss, for your pain. And for what I said about the Dalish. They are your people. They were your home.”

I close my eyes again, shaking.

“I would like to hear about how you would honor them. I know you cannot go. I’m so sorry for that, too.”

I part my lips to breathe shakily and open my eyes. Solas’ thumb catches several tears before he lowers his hand. I wipe my nose, moving closer to him clumsily. He shifts, and I lean against him, letting my head fall exhaustedly to his shoulder. He moves the blanket around me tightly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. His other hand comes to take mine. When he feels how freezing my fingers must be, he takes my hand more firmly. He murmurs something, and I close my eyes when his hands warm against mine, magic pulling the ice from my body.

“You already know what we do,” I whisper.

“Tell me anyway.”

I breathe in sharply, wiping my eyes with my free hand. “Our…” I swallow, licking my lips numbly. “Our burial rites are sacred…the ground the dead rest in is hallowed. Keeper Deshanna…” My throat closes, and Solas’ hand on mine tightens as I struggle to find my voice. “Keeper Deshanna…once explained that, to the Dalish, death is…not something to grieve. It’s…” I close my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks more evenly. “She said it’s…a natural part of life. I know it didn’t use to be,” I add, remembering Solas’ words. “But…it is now. And…when someone dies, we…Sorry,” I gasp, lifting a hand to my mouth. The lump in my throat swells painfully, and I take a moment to collect myself. “We find the outfit they worse most often, the one that represents them.

“For Assan…” I choke on his name, breathing with difficulty. “I would have chosen his hunter’s armor, because he…always joked that he wanted…wanted to be buried in it, but more...more importantly because he was so...so _proud _the day h-he became a hunter." My throat tightens, and a small whine escapes me. I duck my head, struggling to breathe as I continue. "It’s supposed to represent them, honor who they were…Keeper Deshanna would wear her keeper’s robes, the same ones she wore every day. After they’re dressed, we…bury them with an oak staff to help them find their path, offering a p-prayer…to Falon’Din and a cedar branch to—” I close my eyes, shaking as I try to catch my breath. “…to ward off the ravens Fear and Deceit…K-Keeper Deshanna once told me—because I asked…that they were once servants of Dirthamen…but that they were corrupted…Aft—after we bury them, we plant a tree,” I whisper thickly. “We plant a tree so—death may give new life…a forest would grow where my clan fell,” I gasp, bending slightly to breathe.

“Lethallin,” Solas whispers.

“I’m tired,” I breathe. “I’m so tired.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No…I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.

I nod against him. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me over his leg gently until I’m closer to him. He lifts his leg behind me, giving me something to lean against as I move my head to his shoulder, resting my forehead to his neck. He traps me, his arms hugging me to him tightly.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper.

“No,” Solas replies firmly.

“I should have been there.”

“Then the world may have lost you as well.”

I close my eyes, crying again. “I thought the nobleman would get there faster. I should have sent Leliana’s agents. Cullen’s troops. I should have chosen someone else. I should have—”

“You could not have known,” Solas whispers. “You did your best.”

“That’s the worst part,” I cry quietly. “If I can’t protect my own clan…if I can’t keep my own people safe…how can I ever look at our soldiers again? How can I ask you or Varric or Cassandra to trust me with your lives when I failed my own clan?”

“You aren’t responsible for our lives. You are our hope, our light. The Inquisition follows you because we believe in you—you have already shown how _hard _you will fight to save them. You have shown your determination, your refusal to stand aside—that in the face of devastation, you would sacrifice your life first.”

“Clan Lavellan is gone,” I whisper, the words aching as I test them. “I’m all alone.”

Solas hugs me tightly. "You're not alone,” he breathes.

I close my eyes before opening them again to stare at the fire. The room fills with the crack of the wood. When the fire begins to die, Solas moves his hand barely an inch, and it roars back to life.

“Tell me about them,” Solas murmurs softly. “Tell me something you remember.”

I lift a hand to my face, wiping my nose and eyes. “Keeper Deshanna raised me. I was her First, but it was more than that. She knew my parents, of course. After my father died…she took me in. I grew up to be the next Keeper, so I never did much hunting, but—Assan…” I smile faintly, feeling my chest tighten. I groan quietly, the sound slipping from me as I try to catch my breath. “Assan…was always a troublemaker. We knew he’d be a hunter since we were all kids. He wanted to go out and ex-explore the world.” My eyes grow hot with more tears. “When we were eight, he somehow convinced Keeper Deshanna to let us go to a nearby waterfall. She never budged when she made a decision, and she had already forbidden it, but she favored him. We all knew it—we’d often use him to get something we wanted. Most of the time, he succeeded. I think she knew what we were doing, but she—she never called us on it. He was the greatest hunter our clan had ever known, or so Keeper Deshanna always said. He fought for us and brought back enough to feed the entire clan for days.

“I…” I close my eyes. “I recall I once got lost in the woods. I can’t remember what I was doing out there, but I got lost and I couldn’t remember how to get back to the camp. I remember we’d recently settled somewhere, because the woods were unfamiliar. We moved so often back then and on such short notice that I was terrified the clan might leave without me. I was only gone for a couple of hours, but it felt like a lifetime. Assan found me…he made a joke about it—I don’t even remember what it was, but it made me laugh so hard I was crying…” I raise the blanket to my nose, pinching the fluids there away. I hide the blanket against my chest, breathing as evenly as I can.

I open my eyes, desperate to distract myself. My eyes fall to the necklace Solas always wears, the jawbone resting against his chest as he slowly breathes. I run my fingers across it delicately.

“What is this?” I whisper.

Solas’ head shifts a little as he glances down. “It is a reminder,” he offers after a long time.

“A reminder of what?”

Solas doesn’t reply this time. I trace the bone, admiring the curve of the jaw.

“Is it a wolf’s?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

I look up at him, pulling my head off his shoulder. He looks back at me, his eyes softening and searching mine.

“It makes you sad,” I whisper back.

A crease forms between his eyebrows. He starts to say something but thinks better of it.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Solas raises his hand to my cheek, his thumb arcing gently over my cheekbone. “You will never have cause to apologize to me, lethallin.”

Solas leans forward, his lips brushing against my forehead gently. I close my eyes, fresh tears like sandpaper against my irises. Solas keeps his lips against my skin for a long moment, and I quietly breathe him in, feeling my chest loosen enough for me to breathe more evenly. When he pulls back slowly, I lean against his chest again, watching the flames tiredly. I feel his chin rest against my hair, his arms holding me tight. My eyelids slowly, gradually fall until I can no longer pry them open. I fall asleep listening to the quiet, steady rhythm of his heart.


	26. The Champion of Kirkwall

When I wake, I find myself in my bed with no memory of how I got there. My belt digs sharply into my stomach, and I realize I never dressed down for bed, which leaves me sore. My eyes are swollen and my throat raw. I roll over onto my side, pull the belt off as well as I can without moving and then go back to sleep.

I don’t manage to stay in bed for long. When I'm officially awake, I wrap the blanket around myself and head out to the balcony. I sit back where I was last night, watching the sun rise and shift over the mountains, glinting off the snow as it goes. It’s well after noon when I hear someone enter my room.

Solas comes out onto the balcony, carrying with him a platter of soup and bread. The sight of it makes my eyes flood, and I look down.

“You should eat,” Solas murmurs quietly.

I nod slowly, sitting up. I take the bread, picking it apart into small bites. It’s warm and fluffy, as though it was just pulled from the ovens, but it feels wrong to enjoy it.

“I should get dressed,” I say, my voice hoarse and flat to my own ears. “I have to check in with Cullen about the mountain pass and find Leliana—I need to apologize t-to Josephine and—”

“That can all wait, lethallin.”

I pick up the soup, closing my eyes when its heat slips down my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper, leaning back against the stone wall with another sip.

Solas sits with me in silence for a long time. I know he has a thousand other things to do, but he rests with me while I stare out over the mountains numbly. When the temperature drops in the evening, he brings me inside near the fire. At dinnertime, he departs long enough to bring us both something to eat.

I fall asleep in his embrace by the fire, and in the morning I wake to find myself in bed once again, the blanket wrapped around me securely.

I sit up slowly, and I watch the sun through the windows. I stay there for a long time, staring unblinkingly before I finally get up. I bathe and change slowly, feeling too hollow to really think about what I’m doing. I comb my hair pack, pulling it away enough to keep my face clear. I take the stairs down very slowly, distracted. When I reach the bottom, I stare at the door handle for several seconds, as if I can’t remember how it works.

The great hall is full of people when I enter. Shame washes over me so strongly that it staggers me when I see Josephine’s back. She talks with someone quietly, her clipboard low under her arm, and I bite my tongue when I feel tears threaten to spill over. She moves into her office without seeing me. I close my eyes briefly and swallow thickly, walking after her. Several people fall silent as I pass, and I do my best to ignore the way they turn to stare at me.

Josephine’s door is closed as usual—the noise from the hall disrupts her concentration. I press my forehead against it, feeling weak for a moment before I knock.

“Come in,” she calls quietly.

I hesitate and then open the door slowly, looking inside. Josephine glances up from her papers and stands abruptly, jostling her desk when she sees me. 

She comes around the edge, walking halfway towards me. “Inquisitor Lavellan,” she murmurs, outstretching her hand. “I—I wanted to—”

“Wait,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “Please.” I close the door, turning to her. “Josephine, I am…ashamed of what I said to you. I’m so…so sorry.” Tears flood my eyes, and I look down. “I know you did your best. I’m horrified by my behavior.”

Josephine shakes her head. “Inquisitor, please do not apologize. It was my—”

“It wasn’t,” I reply, looking up at her with difficulty. “It was mine. They were my responsibility, and this—this is my fault. You did as I asked. I know you did what you could—everything you could. I’m so sorry I blamed you, Josephine. That was unworthy and unfair. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. I said those things because I…I didn’t want to accept that it was _my _fault,” I say quietly. “But it was.”

“Inquisitor, I—”

“Please forgive me, Josephine.”

“There—is nothing to forgive, Inquisitor,” she replies softly. “It was I that failed _you_.”

“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “You did your best.” I wipe my eyes. "I’m sorry, Josephine. Thank you for trying.”

She stares at me, her expression distraught as she wrings her hands. I move out of her room, heading into the small chamber between her room and the great hall. I cross my arms and press my forehead against the stone, gasping for air. My chest aches, and I force myself to swallow it all back down.

“Stop,” I whisper, tapping my head against the wall lightly. "Please stop."

The lump in my throat hurts. I wipe my eyes again, breathing in sharply to clear my nose. I move into the great hall, heading for Cullen’s office when Varric stops me.

“Hey, Snow,” he says quietly, reaching out to me. “How…how are you?”

I look up at him to answer, and he waves his hand.

“Don’t…answer that. Stupid question. I-I hate to—”

“Lethallin,” Solas murmurs, emerging from his study.

I look up at him, forgetting to smile. “Hi, Solas. Thank you for…everything,” I finish lamely.

He doesn’t respond to that, other than to come to my side. His hand moves to my back, his eyes concerned.

“What were you saying, Varric?” I ask quietly, looking back at him.

Varric stares at me a moment before waving his hand. “Nothing, it’s—it can wait.”

“No, what is it?”

“Honestly, it’s—”

“Go on, Varric; it's okay.”

He looks up at me, sighing quietly. “I just—my friend…came early. She got here yesterday.”

“Now is not the time,” Solas says firmly, turning to frown at Varric.

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” he replies. “I can tell her to—”

“No, it’s alright,” I say. “Let’s go see her.”

Varric glances at me. “Honestly, no, it can wait. You—”

“We need to get back on track. Take me to her.”

“Lethallin,” Solas says, looking at me.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “We don’t have time to waste. Corypheus is…we can’t afford to be a step behind. I won’t fail again.”

“Lethallin,” he repeats, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Varric,” I murmur. “Where is she?”

He looks between us unhappily. “She’s, uh…she’s this way, Snow…This really can wait.”

“I don’t need to be coddled,” I reply softly. “I need to get back to work.”

Varric nods slowly, not believing me. “Alright. This way, then. Chuckles, if you wouldn’t mind…”

I follow Varric, glancing back at Solas once to see him watching me sadly. I look back at the ground. Varric leads us outside. Soldiers stop in their paths and cross their arms over their chests, bowing their heads. I frown, fighting against tears once more as I nod vacantly at them.

“Shit, sorry, Krem,” Varric suddenly says. I look up to see them nearly run into each other.

“Your Worship,” Krem says seriously, standing straighter. “We—heard about what happened. I’m very sorry, Your Worship.”

I nod, looking at his shirt. “Thank you, Krem,” I murmur hollowly.

“If there’s anything I can do—Dalish and I were talking. The Chief's given us permission to go to the Free Marches in your stead if you’d like us to…bury them. Dalish knows the rites.”

I raise to hand to my forehead, rubbing the bridge of my nose when my eyes flood. It takes me several long seconds to find my voice. “That’s—very kind,” I say, my voice strangled. It raises and lowers octaves at will. “I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to go all—”

“It’s really no trouble, Your Worship,” Krem says softly. “Dalish explained to me…I know it’s important.”

I look up at him with so much difficulty that it hurts. My fingers shake as I try to regain control. “I…can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t. We would be honored to do this for you. We know you can’t go yourself.”

I close my eyes tightly, breathing raggedly. “Are you…certain?”

“Yes, Your Worship. A few of us will go. The Chief already gave us leave. We’ll perform the rites and be back in a few weeks.”

I cover my face, struggling harder to maintain control. My hands shake, and I feel Varric’s hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Krem,” I manage to say thickly. “I…don’t know what to say.”

“We’ll see you in a few weeks, Your Worship. Thank you for trusting us with this. Your clan with have a proper burial.”

I look up at him with blurry vision, nodding once. My throat throbs, and I feel like curling up on the ground. “Thank you.”

Krem nods and departs, moving into the tavern. I stand there a moment, shaking.

“Snow,” Varric whispers. “Let’s—do this another day.”

I press my hand to my chest, feeling it ache. “I’m alright,” I breathe. “Let’s keep going.”

“Snow…”

“I’m fine, Varric.”

“No, I’m calling it. Snow, you need some...some time just to...process.”

“I need to get back to work.”

“This is ridiculous, Snow. You just lost...Take a couple days.”

I close my eyes. “I’m fine. Everyday we wait is another day Corypheus has to prepare. You said she can’t stay here long. Let’s go meet her.”

He stares at me a moment.

I meet his eyes with so much difficulty that his expression weakens again. I try to be stronger. “Please, Varric. I can’t just—sit in my room all day.”

He sighs heavily. “Fine,” he mumbles. “This way.”

He turns around unhappily and leads me up to the battlements. He takes me to a deserted corner of the ramparts, and I glance up to see a woman leaning over the edge, looking down as she stands on her toes.

“Hawke!” Varric complains, reaching forward to pull her back when she topples. “Don’t _do _that!”

“It’s _fine_,” she insists. “It’s like the balconies back at the estate. Sort of. A little.”

“It’s…a much longer drop.” He pulls her around to face me. “Inquisitor, meet Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall.”

She smirks, moving a strand of raven black hair away from her vividly blue eyes. “Though, I don’t use that title much anymore. It doesn’t offer the discounts it once did,” she adds with a sacrificial sigh.

I chuckle with difficulty after I realize it’s a joke. It sounds so fake that I look up at her apologetically.

“Hawke,” Varric says, “this is Inquisitor Lavellan. I figured you might have some friendly advice for her about Corypheus. You and I did fight him, after all.”

Hawke snorts, leaning against the battlements while she appraises me. “You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard,” she points out. “I’m sure anything _I _can tell you pales in comparison.”

“C’mon, Hawke,” Varric nudges her. “You _did_ save a city from a horde of rampaging Qunari.”

She laughs. “I don’t see how _that _really applies…or is there a horde of rampaging Qunari I don’t know about?”

“There’s _a _Qunari,” Varric muses. “But, he’s on our side.”

“So then, what can I tell you?” Hawke hums, looking over at me.

“You fought Corypheus before?” I wonder.

“Fought _and _killed,” she replies. I frown. “The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connections to the darkspawn to influence them.”

Varric nods. “Corypheus got into their heads. Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

“If the Wardens have disappeared,” Hawke continues, “they could have fallen under his control again.”

I sigh. “So…Corypheus has the Venatori, the red templars, and now possibly the Wardens as well? Great.” I raise my fingers to my forehead, pushing back a migraine.

Hawke gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, come now, I didn’t come _all _this way just to give you _bad _news. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name’s Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.”

Varric sighs. “Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with the rest of them?”

“No,” Hawke replies. “He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

“We’ll head out there soon,” I say distractedly.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll do what I can to help—whatever it takes. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you for coming, Hawke,” I murmur. “We really appreciate this help.”

“Oh, stop it,” Hawke gasps. “You’ll make me blush.”

The joke takes a second to land, and I smile belatedly. “Will you be here long?”

“Oh no,” Varric answers for her. “We’re getting her out of here as soon as you’re done.”

“He doesn’t want me to embarrass him in front of his new friends,” Hawke explains.

“We’ve more than pushed our luck already,” Varric says, glancing over the battlements nervously. “Pull your hood up. Let’s get you out of here before someone notices.”

Hawke sighs theatrically. “Over a decade of friendship, and he can’t wait to get rid of me.”

I offer a tight smile.

“I’ll be in the great hall later, Snow, if you…want to talk later.”

“He’s got an excellent ear,” Hawke nods.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Hawke,” I murmur.

“I agree,” she hums. “I _have _been sensational.”

I smile weakly. I bow my head towards her and move down the battlements. I rub my head and eyes, breathing in sharply.

“You are very sad.”

I look up to see Cole sitting on the ledge of the battlements. I glance around and then sit beside him on the ground, leaning against the stone wall. After a moment, he slips down beside me, his knee brushing mine as he folds his legs up.

“I can help,” he offers.

“How?” I wonder quietly.

“I can make you forget.”

“Forget?”

“I can make you forget the pain. Make it go away. I don’t like seeing people sad. It makes me sad, too. I want to help.”

I look at him under his big hat. “I’m sorry I’m making you sad.”

“No, I don’t mean…” He frowns. “I mean I can help.”

I look down. “Thank you, Cole. But I don’t want to forget.”

“But…it hurts?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I can make it go away.”

“I want to remember them.”

“Why?”

“Because…you said you had friends before you came here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And then a templar made them go away?”

“Yes…”

“You don’t want to forget them, do you?”

“No.”

“Even though it makes you a little sad.”

Cole sighs.

“It’s like that, then. They were…my family. My whole world, once.”

“That is very sad.”

I nod quietly.

“Hurting, harming, wounds that won’t heal—_my fault_.”

I close my eyes. “Cole.”

“Yes?”

“Please...please don't do that. I...appreciate what you're trying to do, but...please.”

“Sorry…” There’s a long silence between us. “Roderick was sorry, too, before he died.”

I look over at Cole. “What?”

“Blood everywhere. Monsters. Madness. Dying—we’re all dying. The Herald stands against it and heads turn. Desperate and simple. Pure. Voices in the Chantry. Years since I’d heard sung the song and felt it flowing through me, but this is real, this is _real_. So long since I’d felt it. Falling. Flying. Faith. And I _fought _her. Maker forgive me. I hope I did enough.”

“I…” I look down. “Thank you for…telling me that.”

“He likes you, you know.”

“Roderick?”

“No,” Cole laughs. “Solas.”

I look across the battlements. “I like him, too.”

“I know.”

“Why do mention it?”

“Because you were doubting.”

I frown softly, looking down and away. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain how your mind works?”

“Yes.”

“How do you help someone?”

“I start by…listening. I hear hurt, feel it feeling. Some you can solve by giving something—food, a blanket, sleep. Some are intangible. Terrible tangles that catch on a crack, fixed, festering, and a person makes a pearl of pain. I _shake _it loose. No pearl. No pain. They can hope. They can heal.”

I consider that. “Sometimes, I’ve heard you say things quietly that seem to relate to other members of the Inquisition. You say them when you think no one’s listening.”

“They _remember _me,” he smiles. “Their eyes stick, some more. They want me to be. Varric is quiet inside. He pulls me more to here. Makes me a person. Calls me _kid_,” he chuckles with a fond smile. “A friend. Solas. All new, faded for her. He is bright and sad, observes and accepts. Spirit self, seeing the soul, soulless, but somehow sorrows…”

I close my eyes. I suppose that’s what I—

“That’s what you like about him.”

I nod numbly.

“He accepts. He sees and understand. He doesn’t judge, doesn’t reject...Do you know what he likes about you?”

I frown.

“She _sees,_ gentle and pure, accepts what she doesn’t know, asks to understand—humor to light the darkness, compassion to show the way—she is an old soul—soft but strong—not a halla. A wolf.”

I look at Cole. “I…” I hesitate. “What do _you _sense when you look at me?”

He picks up a rock off the ground, squinting at it as he runs his fingers against it. “You’re…too bright, like counting birds against the sun. The mark makes you more, but…past it…pain and sorrow, but you bring light by _being_ it—you help like me, but in another way. Laughter to calm constant quarrels and collisions. You see and hope and try to be more. And past _that_, the weight of _all _on _you_. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight…You are _theirs_. It must be very hard…I hope I help.”

“You do,” I murmur. “I like talking with you.”

“I like talking with you, too.”

“It must be sad feeling everyone’s pain all the time.”

“Why?” he wonders.

“Isn’t it?”

“No, I _help_. I find wounds and heal them. I salve, soothe, save. I see pain and make it better. How could I not be happy?” he smiles.

“I’m glad.”

Cole sits with me for a long time. We don’t talk anymore but being near him does make me feel a littler better. I half-wonder if it's just his effect or if he's doing something on purpose, but I don't question it. 

When we part ways, he heads off to the medical tents. I move to the main hall, stopped by Cassandra and Sera as they separately offer their condolences. I thank them quietly, moving into Solas’ study. He looks up from his papers, and I walk to his couch and sit down heavily. He moves beside me, lifting his hand to my back.

When I tell him about what Krem said, I cry again quietly. I try to leave, but Solas keeps me with him, murmuring comfortingly. He manages to convince me to eat, and when I head upstairs, I fall asleep quickly, too drained to think of anything else.

In the morning, I walk the battlements for hours before I decide to go call a war room meeting. I pick the shortest way down to the courtyard. As soon as I pull open the door to the armory, I see Cassandra pin Varric up against the wall angrily.

“You _knew_ where she was _all_ along!” Cassandra shouts.

Varric pushes her off with a glare. “You’re damned right I did!”

“You conniving little shit!” Cassandra swings at him.

He ducks, scuffling away to put a table between them. “You _kidnapped_ me!” he scoffs. “You _interrogated _me! What did you _expect_?”

Cassandra lunges at him again.

“Hey!” I shout, getting between them. “Enough!”

“You’re taking _his _side?” Cassandra demands.

“I said _enough_!”

“We needed someone to lead this Inquisition,” she says, glaring at Varric past me. “First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then, we looked for Hawke, but she was gone, too. We thought it all connected, but no. It was just _you_. _You _kept her from us.”

“The Inquisition _has _a leader!” Varric exclaims, gesturing wildly at me.

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave! If _anyone _could have saved the Most Holy—”

“Varric’s not responsible for what happened,” I say quickly.

“I was protecting my friend!” Varric shouts.

“Varric is a _liar_, Inquisitor,” Cassandra seethes. “A _snake_. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret.”

“She’s with us now,” Varric retorts. “We’re on the same side!”

“We all know who’s side you’re on, _Varric_. It will never be the Inquisition’s.”

“That’s unworthy, Cassandra,” I snap.

Her expression falls, and she sighs, stepping back. She turns around, crossing her arms. “I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake…Go, Varric…just…go.”

Varric looks at her and then me, his expression tight. He turns to leave, stopping when he reaches the top of the stairs. “Know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Temple, she’d be dead, too. You people have done enough to her.”

Cassandra hangs her head, and silence follows Varric's departure. “I…_believed _him. He spun his story for me, and I swallowed it. If I’d just _explained_ what was at stake…if I’d just made him understand…But I didn’t, did I?” She walks to a chair and sits heavily, defeated. “I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke. I’m such a fool.”

I go to her, kneeling before her to get her to look at me. “You’re too hard on yourself, Cassandra.”

“Not hard enough, I think.”

“You can’t mean that. Besides, have you looked around lately?” I wonder, adopting a lighter tone. “We’re _all _fools here.”

She chokes on a laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“More at home, really.”

“I want you to know,” she gasps, looking at me with a certain desperation in her eyes. “I have no regrets. Maybe if we’d found Hawke or the Hero of Ferelden, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But He did. You’re…not what I’d pictured. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.”

“That’s the spirit,” I whisper. “Come on. Let’s go…throttle some dummies.”

Cassandra huffs a quiet laugh, nodding slowly. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“You’re alright, Cassandra.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Thank you for that assessment."

"Come on," I murmur, standing. "Those dummies won't hit themselves."


	27. By Cruel Magic Taken

A week passes resting at Skyhold. We await word from several matters to determine where to go first. After she left, Hawke wrote to Varric and told us Stroud was delayed and wouldn’t be at Crestwood for a week, maybe two. Josephine is still working on the invitation, trying to find the right person to schmooze, I suppose. I spent my time primarily with Cole, Dorian, Solas, or Cassandra. In the mornings, Dorian and I have breakfast and walk the battlements. He talks briskly of a variety of different subjects, mostly historical or fictional, and I pounce on his enthusiasm, asking a thousand questions, to his supreme delight. In the afternoons, I help Cole in the medical tents, providing healing where I can, and then I train with Cassandra for a couple hours. Bull sometimes joins us. The first time I see him, I thank him as evenly as I can for what Krem and some of his Chargers left to go do for me.

The training sessions are brutal. As I already well-knew, I am excessively out of shape. Bull is amused by my constant breathlessness, but Cassandra is less entertained. She is a tough trainer, but I find myself getting steadier even after just a few sessions. The days after, however, always see me hobbling downstairs with sore muscles and a litany of curses. Bull is great to train with, because his height is so damn intimidating. The first time he notices my hesitation, he sits down with me on the grass, going over countless strategies to use someone else's height against them and my height to my advantage. I nod and eagerly absorb everything, and when we spar again, I feel several degrees more confident. 

In the evenings, I eat with Solas in his study, and then we walk to my room and sit on the balcony to watch the stars. Solas, on those occasions, tells me all the stories he knows about the constellations, and I grin widely, pointing out the only two I previously knew before him. That seems to amuse him, and he proceeds to tell me not only those recognized in elven culture but in Orlesian, Ferelden, Tevinter, and Nevarran cultures, as well. I fall asleep listening to his smooth voice beside me, and when I wake, I always find myself in my bed with no memory of how I got there. During those times, I always sigh to myself, wishing I’d changed _before _falling asleep. The belt digging into my hip or my leggings twisted tightly around my knees is getting old, but I do adore Solas for moving me so carefully and considerately. 

This morning, I head into Solas’ study, breaking my slowly developing pattern to see what he’s up to.

He sits at his desk, staring at a book almost anxiously. I can tell he's trying to read, but I also see him gaze at the page longer than he normally does. He lifts a steaming cup of tea to his lips, and I realize I’ve never seen him drink it before. When he grimaces and recoils, swallowing with difficulty, I realize why. I watch him in amusement as he glances into the cup, perhaps searching for an accidental drop of poison to explain the foul taste.

“Something wrong with your tea?” I muse, fighting an affectionate laugh.

He glances up at me. “It is _tea_. I detest the stuff.”

“Then why are you drinking it?” I chuckle, perching on the edge of his desk.

“This morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind. I may also need a favor.”

“Name it,” I reply without missing a beat.

Solas stands, moving a few paces away anxiously. “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages.” I push off the desk, my humor forgotten as I walk to him. “Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

“My gods—Solas—I...when you friend was captured, how did he…she…”

“It.”

I cock my head. “It?”

“My friend is a spirit of wisdom,” he explains. “Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade.”

“Come on,” I say urgently, waving him forward with me. “Explain on the way. Let’s go.”

“Truly?” Solas gasps in relief, following me.

“Yes, come on—how far is it?”

“Not far,” he answers, walking briskly beside me. "I got a sense of my friend's location nearby." 

“I’ll get the harts from Dennett and meet you by the gates.”

“Suledin,” he says, taking my arm gently. I look at him, stopping on the stairs. His eyes hold mine, his sincerity weakening me. “_Thank _you.” 

I reach up to caress his cheek thoughtlessly and then turn around and take the stairs quickly.

I jog to the stables and retrieve the harts. Dennett helps me saddle them quickly. The man is so used to our random departures that he doesn’t even question it. Blackwall watches curiously from the barn as I lead the harts briskly to the gates where Solas waits. We mount up, and I wave to the soldiers. The gates lift, and Solas and I trot onto the bridge.

“I thought spirits _wanted_ to find their way into this world,” I say as we go, looking over at him.

“Some do, certainly,” Solas replies, “just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not _everyone _wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you,” he adds with a fond smile that quickly fades, “but it had no wish to come here physically.”

“Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?”

“No,” he says worriedly. “It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the Fade. It _is _possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it.”

I nudge my hart forward. “Lead the way.”

Solas moves into a fast gallop, patting his hart's neck soothingly when she sounds anxious. We move down the winding path safely but briskly, passing through tunnels and canyons. Our harts' hooves clatter against the stone intermittently, digging into the earth with soft thuds when we reach easier paths. I murmur softly to my hart, clinging to her reigns tightly. We travel for a couple hours, maybe more, before something catches my eye. 

“There,” I pant, pointing to the spot. The earth is charred in several places, soot coating the nearby snow thickly. 

“Scorch marks?” Solas says, frowning briefly. 

Something changes in his expression, and he moves faster. Another mile down the road, we find a body strewn against the rocky edges of a mountain, burned black. Claws rake down his chest, ripping into his torso. The man's weapons are strewn across the ground, a couple daggers and a bow, all shoddily crafted. His battered helmet covers his face well, but I recognize the armor. This poorly-clad in the middle of a mountain pass? He must be a bandit. 

I swallow, a terrible realization turning my stomach. A demon did this.

“No,” Solas whispers. “No, no, no—” He suddenly pulls hard on his reins, jerking to a stop as he stares in horror over my shoulder. “My friend,” he gasps.

I turn quickly to see a summoning circle cast lazily across the snowy bank near a frozen pond, its rocky pillars misshapen. In its center, a massive pride demon pants, bent down on one knee. Its purple skin vibrates softly with its roaring breaths, its claws sunk deep into the earth. The circle keeps it bound, trapped, and the process is obviously painful to the demon.

I stare at it in grief as Solas dismounts and jogs closer. I follow him quickly, tying our harts to a tree.

Solas stops, staring in disbelieving anguish at his friend. Hatred suddenly washes over his features, and he releases an angry growl, glaring ahead. 

“They turned your friend into a demon,” I whisper, dismayed.

Solas looks down at his hands bitterly. “Yes.”

“You…said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter,” I say softly.

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

“So…they summoned it for something so opposed to its own nature that it was corrupted—fighting…” I close my eyes briefly before looking at Solas.

Something rustles in the bushes, and a mage comes out of hiding, his hands held up.

“Let us ask them,” Solas says angrily.

“Mages!” the man gasps in relief. “You’re not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted! We’ve been fighting that demon f—”

“You _summoned _that demon!” Solas shouts. The hate in his voice shocks me—I’ve never seen him so hurt. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it _kill_! You twisted it against its purpose!”

“I-I-I _understand _how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can—”

“We are not here to help _you_!” Solas seethes.

“Word of advice,” I murmur to the man, “I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here. He's something of an expert.” 

“Listen to me!” the man implores. “_I_ was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Cir—” 

“Shut—up,” Solas commands quietly. Somehow his voice lowered in anger is even more painful to me, and I find myself wishing he'd return to yelling. “You summoned it—to protect you from the bandits.”

“I—yes…”

“You _bound_ it to obedience, then _commanded_ it to kill. _That _is when it turned.”

The idea of it makes me sick. I raise a hand to my stomach, the horrifying ordeal this spirit went through settling over me heavily. 

“The summoning circle,” Solas says urgently, turning to me. “We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“What?” the man gasps. “The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from _killing_ us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now—”

“Suledin, _please_,” Solas begs.

“Of course,” I reply immediately. “I’ve studied rituals like this. I should be able to help you safely disrupt the circle.” 

“Thank you,” Solas breathes, weakening in relief.

The demon pulls itself to its feet and roars. It thrusts a hand out, slamming it to the ground hard enough to crack the ice in the pond. 

“We must hurry!” Solas exclaims.

“Go right,” I reply as the Circle mage disappears into the bushes again. “I’ll go left!”

I run over to the first pillar, breathing in deeply. The demon watches me, roaring angrily. I press both hands to the pillar at first before yanking my left hand back, afraid of what it might do with such a complex spell. I close my eyes and breathe out my words slowly, focusing my energy on the binding and not the demon rearing to kill us.

Solas’ pain and anger twists inside me—a man so accustomed to peace or dry humor, even when irritated, has turned to rage and shouting. 

The pillar breaks apart under my fingers, crumbling to the ground. I rip my eyes open, watching the demon. It slams its fist against the ground, and I take off.

I slip in the snow when I get to the next pillar, sliding clumsily over to the crooked stone. I don’t bother getting up before I slam my hand to it, breathing out as quickly as I can to form the words. I concentrate carefully, wary of saying the wrong word by accident. 

The demon charges for me, but it immediately seems to get stuck on something. I look up to see Solas gripping the air with both hands, holding the demon in place. My eyes widen; I’ve never seen someone with the power necessary to perform such a task. It must take so much energy.

I speak more quickly, the words pulled from me at an increased volume. The pillar breaks apart, and I run to the next. Three more to go.

The demon's angry voice sends spikes of adrenaline rushing through me, the sound deafening and terrifying. I work as fast as I can, closing me eyes when I get too distracted. The pillar breaks easily, and I run to the next, tripping over my own feet as I rush. I slide my fingers along the mountainside as I catch myself roughly, wincing without stopping. The second to last pillar slices through my fingers when I carelessly run into it, but I don't hesitate, calling my words loudly. The demon roars and breaks free from Solas’ grasp. I stare at it as it runs towards me, but I don’t stop chanting. Solas tries to catch it, but it must have taken too much of his energy to attempt the spell again so soon. The demon slams a hand into the mountainside above me. Rocks hail down over me, clattering noisily to the ground. Solas runs towards me, but I wave him back as the pillar breaks. I run to the last one as the demon turns around, charging towards me once more. 

Solas joins me, picking my words up halfway through the spell flawlessly, and the pillar shatters as the demon gets within feet of us. It roars and then collapses to its knees. Solas watches in agony as the demon whines and folds in on itself. The body dissipates, leaving behind a small, bright figure that gasps and wheezes. As I watch, its formless flame burns low, and Solas steps forward slowly. I realize with a rush of grief that the spirit is dying, its brilliant light fading even more. The spirit faces us, settling close to the ground as Solas kneels before it.

“Lethallin,” he whispers. “Ir abelas.”

“Tel’abelas,” the spirit replies quietly. “Ir tel’him. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an.”

My eyes flood, and I look down briefly as the spirit's final request echoes in my mind. 

Solas turns his head away from the spirit, his eyes closed. He breathes out slowly before looking at his friend again. “Ma nuvenin,” he murmurs hollowly.

Solas raises his hands to the spirit. It weakens, its color fading. He turns his palms inward, gently moving his hands towards himself, guiding the spirit away. Its flame fades until it's gone.

“Dareth shiral,” he whispers, hanging his head.

Tears slip down my cheeks, and I swallow thickly. “I heard what it said,” I whisper. “It was right. You did help it.”

Solas takes a quiet breath. “Now…I must endure.”

“Let me know if I can help,” I say softly.

Solas stands, turning to me. His eyes make my chest tighten in pain as he offers a sad smile. “You already have,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. He sees something over my shoulder, and then his anger returns. His features change, hatred burning away his sorrow in an instant. “All that remains now is them,” he adds coldly.

The mages stumble forward—three of them, all with tattered Circle robes cinched around their waists. “Thank you,” one of them says. “We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotect—”

“You—tortured and killed my friend,” Solas seethes, moving past me.

I fold my arms across my chest, looking at where the spirit faded away.

“We didn’t _know_ it was just a spirit! Th-the book said it could help us!”

I hear something explode behind me. It startles me slightly, and I look down. I slowly turn around to see Solas standing angrily, his eyes unseeing as he glares over the mages’ bodies.

“Damn them all,” Solas mutters. He takes a moment before turning around to me. “I…need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

“Alright,” I murmur softly. He moves past me slowly, kneeling in the snow where his friend died. I turn to the road, closing my eyes as I wipe my cheeks. I want to stay, but I understand the need for space. I walk back to my hart and mount up, glancing one last time at Solas as I disappear around the edge of the path.

***

I shift my hips on the couch, frowning as I wake at the crick in my neck. I sigh quietly, folding my arm up under my head. I open my eyes to see Solas’ study still dim and quiet. The door stands ajar, exactly the way I left it. I shift my hips again, leaning against the back of the couch to get more comfortable, and close my eyes. Night fell hours ago. I was hoping he’d be back. Concern floods me until I remember he’s a powerful mage used to traveling alone.

That doesn’t completely silence the worry, but it does stifle it a little.

I relax into the couch, sighing quietly. I’ve almost fallen asleep again when I hear the door open softly.

I open my eyes to see Solas close the door behind himself. I sit up on the couch, wincing when my back and neck protest. Solas crosses the room slowly and sits close beside me. He looks drained. I hesitantly reach over, pick his hand up, and pull it over to my lap. When he doesn’t resist, I interlace our fingers tightly, looking over at him.

“How are you?” I whisper.

“It hurts,” he admits, his voice hoarse. I close my eyes, feeling my chest tighten. “It always does, but I will survive.”

“I’m sorry, Solas,” I whisper more softly. “Thank you for coming back.”

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine in the low light. “You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.”

I move slowly, waiting for him to resist if he wants me to stop, but he doesn’t. I shift my hips and lean against his shoulder, hugging his arm. I tighten my fingers on his, and he breathes out quietly, relaxing a little against me.

“Where did you go?” I wonder quietly.

“I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It’s empty…but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, something new may grow there.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he murmurs.

“What…happens when a spirit...dies?”

“It isn’t the same for mortals,” he replies softly. “The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.”

I pick my head up to look at him. “You mean your friend might come back?”

“No,” he answers, looking down. “Not really. A spirit’s natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality.” I tighten my fingers on his, looking down, too. “Something similar may reform one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.”

“I’m so sorry, Solas,” I whisper. “I…hope there isn’t a next time, but if you ever have to mourn again…you don’t need to be alone.”

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone,” he whispers.

“I know.”

“I’ll work on it,” he promises quietly. He looks at me, sincerity burning his eyes again. “And thank you.” His thumb arcs across the back of my hand tenderly, and he leans back into the couch more. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling him move his head to mine.

I don’t know how long we sit there like that. Solas doesn’t disentangle himself to go to bed when I expect him to, and it makes me hope that I’m capable of comforting him the way he did for me. It's quiet for so long that when Cole appears before us and speaks, it startles me badly.

“I am—”

I jerk against Solas in surprise. “Cole,” I gasp, relaxing and raising my free hand to my hammering heart.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, wringing his hands. “I did not mean to scare you. I just wanted to say…I am sorry your friend died, Solas.” The boy sits down below us on the ground, folding his legs up and looking at us from under his hat.

“Thank you, Cole,” Solas replies quietly.

“I didn’t know there were spirits of wisdom…”

“There are few,” Solas nods. “Spirits form as a reflection of this world and its passions. We will never lack for spirits of rage or hunger or desire. The world gives them plenty to mirror. The gentler spirits are far more rare. We can ill-afford the loss of even one spirit of wisdom or faith…or compassion.”

Cole looks up. “I will try not to die,” he promises solemnly.

“Do that, please,” Solas murmurs.

Silence falls over us again. Cole stays, playing with threads on the rug beneath him. I watch his hands work idly while Solas tightens his fingers against mine.

Cole doesn’t look up, but he begins murmuring softly. “Bright and brilliant, he wanders the ways, walking unwaking, searching for wisdom—”

“I do not need you to do that, Cole,” Solas says softly.

“Your friend wanted you to be happy, even though she knew you wouldn’t be.”

Solas sighs softly, and the sound is enough to tighten my chest again. “Could you…if you would remember her, could you do it as I would?”

“Yes…He comes to me as though the Fade were just another wooded path to walk without a care in search of wisdom.” Solas closes his eyes, bowing his head. I tighten my grip on him, watching him in anguish before I lower my head to his shoulder again, squeezing his fingers. “We _share _the ancient mysteries, the feelings lost, forgotten dreams, unseen for ages, now beheld in wonder.” Tears flood my eyes and slip down my temple and the bridge of my nose—a soul so rare—both Solas and the spirit of wisdom. “In his own way, he knew wisdom, as no man or spirit had before.”

Solas breathes out quietly, the sound so pained that it twists in me again. I close my eyes, biting my lip as more tears slip down my nose and temple. “Thank you,” Solas whispers. I move my arm to enclose his hand in both of mine. Solas leans his head against mine, and I relax, breathing out quietly. I try to think of something to say, but nothing sounds right. As the room falls silent around the three of us, it begins to feel like maybe this is enough. 


	28. Reflections of the Dreamer

“Inquisitor!”

I glance back to see Leliana jogging to catch up to me. “Leliana?” I reply, stopping in the middle of the main hall. 

“Inquisitor,” she repeats. “Remember I mentioned the Arcanist? She’s here.”

“Oh?”

“She’s in the undercroft with the blacksmith. She’s…very eager to meet you.”

“Oh…thanks, Leliana. I’ll go see her.”

I turn around and head back the way I came, turning to the undercroft. I take the stairs down quickly, and the blacksmith turns when he hears my arrival.

“Inquisitor,” he murmurs, seemingly unhappy.

“Hi, Harritt. The Arcanist has arrived?”

“See for yourself,” he sighs, gesturing to his workshop. 

More accurately, what _was _his workshop. Along his usual benches and tools, an array of mysterious new fixtures has been added. I venture further into the undercroft, admiring the additions as I pass them. I don't even know what they are, much less how they work. Judging from Harritt's unhappy grimace, he doesn't seem to think they're necessary. 

“Hello there!”

I turn around to see the Arcanist, greatly surprised to find a dwarf standing before me.

She grins and waves. “Well don't just stand there slack-jawed!” she giggles. “Let’s figure out what you need!”

“Forgive me,” I say quickly, my cheeks flushing. “I—_you’re_ the magical advisor?”

“Oooh, you’re her,” she gasps. “The _Inquisitor_! I’m Dagna! _Arcanist _Dagna,” she adds with a wide grin. It’s an honor, Your Worship!” Her eyes fall to my side, and she steps closer to me. “Is that it? The hand-Anchor-mark? It’s pretty!”

I glance down to see a faint green glow through my glove.

“The Breach was pretty, too,” she murmurs. “In a ‘destroy everything’ sort of way.” She laughs again.

“You’re the first dwarven Arcanist I’ve ever met.” They’re usually stuffy old men, from my understanding. And most pressingly, _always_ mages. 

“I’m the only one!” she grins. “When you do things everyone says you can’t, you get to be the first!” She giggles. “I don’t need to tell _you _that. I’ve looked at Harritt’s devices. The precision is fantastic, but typical, mundane—old thinking!”

“You what?” the blacksmith says, offended. 

“No disrespect meant to the classical trades!” she adds quickly, turning to wave at him. “But _you_ need a new perspective,” she says to me. “I’ve made adjustments. As long as I _keep _making them, you can craft just about anything! Almost safely!”

I laugh at that. “You seemed impressed with the Anchor. I’m curious—what does it look like to you?”

“May I?” she asks, gesturing. I pull my glove off, holding my hand out to her. “I heard what everyone said about what you heard Corypheus say. That’s a _long _chain of who-said-whats.” She takes my hand, turning it over. Her eyes scan it studiously. “To me, it says ‘key.’ But keys do lots of things! Open, lock, switch. Some open one thing, some open…_everything_. It sounds like Corypheus made it to open, but it looks like you can use it to close. It may be that simple.”

I stare at her. “Wait—are you—”

“What?” she smiles, looking up at me.

“You mean...I’m changing its purpose?”

“Well, yeah!” she grins. “You’ve redesigned it, so to speak!”

Something rushes through me dizzyingly, an emotion I don’t know how to identify. Excitement, perhaps. Realization. Adrenaline. I don't know. I blink rapidly. “Wait, so…it’s…like I’m twisting it against its purpose.”

“Sure,” Dagna offers, confused. “Oh! You’re having one of those epiphany things, aren’t you? That’s so exciting! What are you thinking?”

Gods—

“Dagna, I think—can you come with me? I just—had an idea, and I want to—can you come with me?”

“Yes! Field trip! Let’s go!”

I walk far more briskly than I mean to. I run up the stairs, bursting into the main hall loudly enough to startle several people.

“Sorry!” I say, waving and grinning. “Sorry.”

I jog down the hall. _Finally _an answer!

Dagna laughs giddily from behind, running after me.

“Solas!” I grin, speaking too loudly as I burst into his study.

He looks up, startled. “Suledin?”

“Solas, I—oh, this is Dagna, our Arcanist,” I say quickly, closing the door and locking it behind her.

“Hi!” she smiles.

“Hello,” he greets confusedly, rising from his chair.

“Sorry! Were you busy? So sorry—I just—we were talking, and I had a thought, and I wanted to tell you _immediately_—Dagna, come here.”

I glance up at the library, spotting Dorian reading in his chair. He doesn’t appear to hear us, and I make an effort to lower my voice.

“Dagna, what I’m about to tell you—”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so excited,” she gasps.

I laugh and then put on a serious face. “It’s something _only _Solas and I know, and I’d really rather keep this between us. Please.”

“Yes! I am _great _with secrets!”

“Okay…” I glance at Solas. He watches me curiously. “My hand,” I say to Dagna. “The mark. It hurts.” Her face falls. “Not right now, but every rift I close, it gets worse. Every time I use it—it feels like…fire and like my bones are being crushed. It’s—like the magic is trying to pull my hand clean off. Solas knows how to negate the feeling temporarily, and it’s helped—unbelievably. But at night or right after a rift, it’s like…I can’t even describe it.”

“I’m—so sorry,” Dagna offers.

I wave my hand dismissively. “Even worse, it’s affected my magic. I won’t demonstrate here, because the effects are wildly uncontrolled, but spells I try to use completely misfire. Ice turns to electricity, fire to rock—but never consistently. I can’t use my left hand at all for magic, which has…staggered me. But what you just said—I—I think that’s _it_,” I laugh.

“What’d I say?” Dagna grins, shifting excitedly.

“Solas, tell me if this sounds right. She was musing about the Anchor’s purpose. She said that it sounded like the Anchor was a _key_, and Corypheus meant for it to _open_, but I use it to _close_. I—I—” I laugh again, my heart thudding in my ears. “I’m twisting it—denying it its _true,_ _original _purpose.”

Solas’ expression clears with the realization. He leans back against his desk, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “That would explain the distortion between your abilities and the execution...as well as the pain that it causes…”

“I’m not following,” Dagna says.

“If I’m using it against its original purpose,” I say eagerly, “then it’s…it’s _resisting _me. It doesn’t want to close rifts, because that isn’t what it was _designed _to do! The mark was meant to open, not close. It’s fighting me!”

“Which is why it hurts,” Dagna murmurs. “It’s doesn't like what you’re using it for, what you're making it do! _Oh_! That is—_brilliant_! Of course it would! I mean, I’m sorry, but _wow_!”

“Dagna, you are an Arcanist?” Solas replies thoughtfully.

“Yes!”

Solas remains quiet for a long time, thinking. “I, of course, have no such experience. You would know more than anyone. Could we craft something—a glove for the Inquisitor that she could wear that would essentially ease the process of changing its purpose? Something that could, in theory, negate its side effects to allow the Inquisitor to seal rifts without so much pain?”

Dagna’s jaw drops. “This—is—the greatest—day—of my _life_! _Yes_! I _accept_!”

“What?” I gasp, looking between them.

“I think I can do that! I-I have to do so much research! I have to study your hand! I need to take samples and watch how it reacts and see what it does when it’s—your ambassador! I need books—_lots of books_! Arcane books and magical books—all the books! I’ll set her up with a list to get started! This might just work!”

I whip around to Solas. “You’re—a genius!”

He smiles softly, waving a hand. “Dagna is the expert.”

“You’re a _genius_! You’re both _geniuses_!” Unthinkingly, I grab Solas’ hand and kiss the back of it, too delighted to even find the grace to be embarrassed.

“I’ll get started immediately!” Dagna enthuses. “Let’s go back to the undercroft, Inquisitor! Tests! I have to run tests! I need sample and questions and answers! Let’s go! Oh, I _knew _this would be the best job ever!”

“Thank you, Solas!” I call as Dagna drags me out. “Thank you for being a complete genius and amazing and incredible—I’ll find you later!” I'm pulled around the corner before I can finish. 

I grin, following Dagna, a blossom of hope giddily bursting inside me that the problem may finally be solved.

***

I stumble through Solas’ door ungracefully, falling on his couch heavily. My head hits the wall, and I frown, pulling my legs up under me with a sigh.

His lips curl into an amused smile. “Long day?”

“Dagna ran _hundreds _of tests,” I reply. “I’m exhausted but delighted. Mostly exhausted.”

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little, but it’s okay—that’s not why I came here. I just wanted to collapse and to see you.”

Solas rises from his desk. He walks over and kneels before me. I look down at him, my heart reacting idiotically. He takes my hand delicately, his fingers warm against mine. His eyes dance slowly between mine as I watch dazedly, his words pulled from his tongue so naturally that I’d think he invented them himself. His hands glow softly as he works, but I can’t find it in me to look away from him to admire the blue hue, as I so often do.

“Thank you,” I whisper when he’s finished.

He doesn’t release my hand. He looks up at me for a long moment before rising and sitting beside me, resting our hands on his leg as he faces me.

“Tell me more,” I murmur.

“More?”

“More of your journeys, the things you’ve seen. I—I like listening to your voice,” I admit with a blush.

He gives me a beautifully soft smile, thinking briefly. He looks down at our hands, his expression growing solemn. “I found an ancient dwarven thaig no longer sheltered by the stone. An earthquake had exposed it all to daylight. A thousand dwarven corpses lay, the victims of a darkspawn horde, their last stand marked by one great ring of armor. In the middle, one small body, clutching tightly to a small stuffed toy.”

I swallow quietly, the weight of the image settling on me.

Something occurs to me suddenly. I look up at Solas, my eyebrows pulling together at the upsetting thought. I wait to confirm it, hoping what I see is coincidence.

“Tell me about a spirit you’ve met,” I whisper.

Solas looks at our hands thoughtfully. “The Alamarri crossed the Frostback Mountains to escape a beast they called the shadow goddess in their stories. I met the spirit they fled. She walks the Fade along the southern tundra, weeping, lonely, and forgotten. Great Ferelden formed because a lonely spirit drove her prey away.”

The weight gets heavier on me. I admire Solas’ eyes, seeing it deep within him. Perhaps I’ve always seen it. “A memory?” I breathe softly.

He offers another small smile. “I saw a dwarf emerge into the light of day and shield his eyes against the sun, the first time he had seen it. The tears were streaming from his eyes. I thought them from the blazing light until I saw the rock he held so tightly. Then he laid the rock down gently, and he left it as he walked away.”

I close my eyes.

“What is it?” he wonders quietly.

“You…told me once that to find interesting places, one must be interested, that the Fade reflects the world around it.”

Solas nods.

“It reflects the emotions of those who have died.”

He nods again, his expression growing confused.

“It reflects the emotions of the dreamer.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, frowning softly.

I swallow. “The places you find…a broken spirit, a dwarf leaving his home behind...populations destroyed in mass, cities that fell in a single moment, the result of some cataclysmic event—an attack or a volcanic eruption or an earthquake…”

Solas freezes, his expression carefully neutral. 

“To find those places…to see _those_ memories specifically…what you must be feeling…”

Solas swallows quietly, looking away from me.

“I’m sorry you feel that way when you dream, Solas.”

He tightens his hand on mine, offering a quiet, somewhat strangled laugh. “You are a constant surprise.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

“You see…a great deal more than anyone has before.”

I shift my hand, interlacing our fingers. “I know things are hard for you,” I murmur. “I didn’t want to…” I sigh. “I just want you to know that…I’m here. If there’s anything you ever want to discuss, anything that troubles you or…haunts you. I’m here. Whatever it is. You don’t have to bear it alone anymore.”

Solas looks at me, his eyes so conflicted, revealing so much sadness that it tightens my chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly. “I…do not wish to burden you.”

“You could never burden me.”

His eyes fall. “Thank you, lethallin. It is a kind offer.”

“I care about you, Solas,” I say softly. “I don’t…like seeing you so…unhappy.”

Solas gazes at the rug. He sits back, clinging to my hand tightly. I watch him sadly, scooting closer to rest my head against his shoulder. He relaxes slowly, and I close my eyes, wishing I knew the right things to say. I look down to his hand, admiring the sharp contrast between our skintones once again.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course, lethallin.”

“It’s…changing subjects…pretty drastically. It’s…” I hesitate. “It’s about…Corypheus.”

“What about him?”

“You know…you know when people don’t understand something, and it scares them? Well, let’s just—pretend that that’s me. Can you…maybe help me come up with some answers?”

Solas’ hand tightens on mine. “Yes. I claim no secret wisdom, of course, but I will guess as best I can.”

“His orb…”

I feel Solas nod softly. “It must have been the means by which he created the Breach. I suspect the blast that destroyed the Conclave was more accident than anything…the result of unlocking power that had sought release for ages. What I cannot understand is how he managed to survive such an explosion.”

“And it’s ours?”

“I never would have believed a Tevinter mage could unlock such a powerful relic,” he murmurs. “It clearly enhances his abilities, giving him access to power he should never have known.”

“Is that how he controls the Archdemon?”

“Indirectly, one assumes. Nothing in any lore connects my people to the Old God dragons who became Archdemons.”

I digest that. “What do you think he’ll do next?”

“You shamed him when you destroyed Haven. It spoiled his glorious victory. It would be worse to acknowledge that you had done so. He must continue on his course or show weakness. He will return to his plans to throw Orlais into chaos and then conquer it for Tevinter.”

“You’re certain?”

“As certain as is possible, assuming _I _can plausibly predict a man who seeks to rise to godhood.”

“Can you?” I grin, chuckling softly.

Solas runs his thumb across the back of my hand. “The key is understanding this: no real god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying. His deception will undo him,” he promises, “as it has done countless fools before.”

I chew the inside of my cheek thoughtfully for a long moment. “What do you think is the source of Corypheus’ power?”

“According to the lore, the ancient magisters of Tevinter received guidance from the Old Gods. Corypheus commands a false Archdemon—a corrupted Old God. This suggests he no longer sees himself as their minion. Some of his unique power comes from the corruption of the Blight. The rest may come from the orb he carries.”

I wait a long moment before asking the next question. “Do you think he’ll find Skyhold?”

Solas doesn’t answer at first. “I…think we are safe here. If he does, we’ll be ready.”

“What if we aren’t? What if his orb destroys us all, brings the fortress down on us?" A terrible thought grips me. "What if he can control the mark from far away?”

Solas feels my tension, lifting his free hand to my wrist. He encircles it, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “I do not think that is how it works.”

“But we don’t _know_.”

“No,” Solas allows, “but if he could control you, he would not have lost at Haven. You are something he did not predict, and your devotion to your cause and your strength makes you a formidable enemy.”

I laugh once, relaxing again. “Are you saying that a fifteen-foot darkspawn would-be god is afraid of _me_?”

“He would be a bigger fool than he appears if he were not.”

I grin, blushing. “Hmm.” I sigh quietly. “Okay. You’re making me feel better,” I chuckle softly. “Could you…tell me about another ruin you found?”

Solas is quiet for a moment, his thumb arcing across my skin as he thinks. “I found in the Korcari Wilds a humble cottage far removed from any of the simple Chasind tribesman. The trees and weeds had not reclaimed the home, nor did the Chasind dare to come and steal the trinkets still remaining. It was empty, long abandoned—but the world feared that she might return.”

My eyes widen and I grin. Creepy. “Wow,” I breathe. “Keep talking.”

“Mm…I found an ancient spirit who had once been undisputed king of almost every land I had discovered. Like pride or rage, it was the Fade’s reflection of a feeling. When I asked which one it was, the spirit faltered. ‘They’ve forgotten,’ said the spirit. ‘There remains no word for what I was.’”

I blink slowly at our hands, letting that one settle in. It takes me a long time to find my voice. “Tell me more.”

“I saw a young Qunari working in a simple kitchen, baking bread as she was ordered every morning. In every loaf, she broke the rules. She’d take a pinch of sugar and fold it to the center, like a secret. And this act of small rebellion brought a shining smile across her face.”

I grin at the smile in his own voice. “I like her.”

Solas laughs once quietly. “Are you tired?” he murmurs, hearing the heaviness in my voice.

I nod loosely, unable to open my eyes. “I don’t want to get up,” I admit, chuckling once. “Can we stay a little longer?”

Solas moves his thumb across my skin again. “We can stay as long as you like.”

"Mm...Tell me more."

***

I spend the morning with Dorian and Varric, who is pretending to hide from Cassandra. Or maybe not pretending, now that I really think about it. I'd probably be hiding, too, if she were mad at me. After lunch, Dagna brings me to the undercroft to run more tests. She excitedly chats with me, making me laugh and smile as she works. She’s, quite frankly, adorable, and I enjoy spending time with her. An agent interrupts our session and summons me to a war council meeting. I find Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen discussing something that makes them all laugh when I enter. It’s such a rare sight that I smile and hang back a moment before approaching them.

We spend the better part of an hour going over several issues and wrapping up a dozen more. Josephine informs us all that we’ve received our invitation to the Grand Masquerade, which is set to be held in three months’ time. With that looming over us, the rest of the meeting is rather more subdued. Leliana receives a message while we’re in the war room, and she departs quickly to take care of the matter. Afterwards, the three of us finish a few topics, and then Cullen and Josephine depart. I follow them out, heading to the courtyard. 

I pass Solas on the way, and he calls me over quietly.

“Suledin, I was…do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” I smile.

“Perhaps…we could speak in private?”

“Certainly,” I reply, motioning for him to come with me. “Is everything alright?” I wonder as we reach the stairs to my room.

“Yes,” he answers simply, following me quietly.

When we reach the top, I move across to the balcony, leading Solas out into the sunlight.

He rests a hand against the railing, angling towards me, though his eyes scan the snowy mountains beyond us. “What were you like?” he wonders. “Before the Anchor.”

“Insufferable.”

He chuckles nervously. “I mean…Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind—your morals, your…spirit?”

I smile, my eyebrows twitching in confusion. “No? I don’t _think _so…if it had, would I have noticed?”

Solas suddenly smiles, relaxing a little. “No. That’s an excellent point.”

“Why?” I wonder. 

His eyes trap mine. “You show a wisdom I have not seen since…since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I tease.

“It’s not disappointing, it’s…” He sighs. “Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours…have I misjudged them?”

I look down briefly. “I don’t hold the Dalish up as perfect,” I murmur, “but we have something worth honoring. A…memory of the ancient ways.”

“Perhaps that is it,” Solas muses. “I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you. You go out of your way to learn, to understand. You…you are unique.”

“So…what does this mean, Solas?” I wonder.

He offers a small smile. “It means I have not forgotten the kiss.”

My heart stops and then picks up double time. I smile and step forward once, playing with his hand on the balcony.

“Good,” I muse.

I pull my arms behind my back. He gives me a maddeningly enticing smirk as he recognizes that I'm mimicking his usual posture. I angle my head playfully, raising an eyebrow slightly, as if challenging him. He smiles, but it slowly fades. His eyes sadden as they fall to the railing. He closes them, shaking his head once. He turns to go, hesitancy turning him to doubt.

I catch his arm. “Don’t go,” I breathe.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he says quietly, his back to me. “But…losing you would—”

He turns to me suddenly, surprising me when his lips press against mine. I gasp quietly, reaching up to his arms. His hand falls to my cheek, and a wild heat rushes through me as his lips move against mine steadily. I melt against him, my fingers pressing into his arms. He winds one of them around my back, pulling me the rest of the way to him. I give a quiet sound that makes my cheeks flame, kissing him back fervently. His lips dance with mine for a long moment, stealing my breath.

He pulls back, his eyes adoring and affectionate. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he breathes.

Warmth spreads through me thickly, and I grin like a fucking idiot. “Ar lath ma,” I repeat. “Solas—”

Before I can even attempt to add any of the million things I want to say, Solas presses his lips to mine once again. He smiles against the kiss, the gesture driving me crazy. I sigh quietly, lifting my hand to his jaw. My breath races out of me as I cling to him, wrapping one of my arms around his back. My fingertips press into his shoulders as he leans over to kiss me ardently. I part my lips, giving another embarrassing sound when his tongue delves into my mouth, exploring me. Giddy lightheadedness washes over me powerfully, and I forget every sense that isn’t immediately connected to the way he tastes and smells and feels until he’s all I can breathe or think or understand.

He moves his head back swiftly to come at me from the left, and I grin against him, moving back against the railing. He moves with me, stepping closer. My heart races erratically as he pulls me to him, his hand drifting to the small of my back. I throw my arms over his shoulders, bunching his shirt between my fingers as I feel his wolf’s jawbone necklace press against my stomach. I breathe his name when he pulls away briefly and am rewarded with another searing kiss that steals my breath. His fingers tighten on my back, lighting a fire under my skin. I move my leg, shifting my stance to press my thigh against his. He moves his hand from my back to my knee, pulling my leg up. I gasp and another breathy sound escapes me when he hitches my leg high on his waist.

He wraps his arm around my back again, lifting me gently off the ground. He turns us slowly, pressing me more safely against the wall beside the doors. The cold stone against my back makes me shiver in response, and I smile against his lips as he pulls my knee up higher on his waist, pressing against me. His breath moves as swiftly as mine, and the sound lights another fire under my skin, conflicting jarringly with the cool air and the bite of the stone behind me.

Solas lowers my leg, lifting his hands to my cheeks. His left thumb arcs over my skin affectionately. He pulls his lips from mine gently, kissing me once more tenderly. He presses his forehead to mine, and I grin madly, panting through my lips. I keep my eyes closed, breathing him in as I swallow and try in vain to catch my breath. His is warm and sweet on my lips, and I open my eyes to look up at him, adoring the way he looks. My eyes fall to his chest, to the necklace he wears, and I see my fingers bunching his shirt. A small flicker catches my attention, and I look up to see his lips spreading into an enchanting smile. He moves one of his hands lower on my cheek, letting his thumb brush against and then trace my lower lip. He pulls back to look at me, his eyes dancing between mine slowly with wide pupils.

I can’t help the idiotic grin as it spreads. I feel lightheaded and giddy, and I bunch his shirt more, swallowing again.

He leans down and tenderly presses his lips to mine once more. The kiss is soft and pure, his lips warm against mine. He kisses my nose and then my forehead before stepping back from me gently. He takes my hand as it falls from his shirt and intertwines our fingers, bringing it up high enough to kiss the back of it. I watch, breathing raggedly. He looks up at me, his eyes drawing me in.

“Ma vhenan,” he murmurs quietly, making my blush again. His thumb arcs over my cheek, and he releases me softly. His fingers trail down my cheek to my jaw before they disappear, and then he steps through the door.

I glance back to see him move down the stairs slowly. He looks back at me once, offering a beautiful smile. When he’s gone, I grin broadly at the mountains, a delighted and idiotic giggle escaping my lips. I waltz back into the room and sigh happily as I collapse on my bed with weak knees. I grab my pillow and hug it, grinning madly at the ceiling. I laugh again, delight bubbling in my chest. I close my eyes, committing to memory the softness his kiss and the tenderness of his words.


	29. The Whisper of Silence

It takes us a few days to get to Crestwood and find the right cave. The first day we spend here is consumed with undead, rifts, bandits, a bandit fort, retaking said bandit fort, and draining a lake—all manner of unpleasantries. I manage to wear myself out too much to make it to the smuggler’s cave by casting an ambitious fire storm when we tried to close a massive rift. That, coupled with the act of actually closing the rift, renders me rather useless, and we set camp for the night. Solas helps me with my hand, informing me that he spoke with Dagna before we left and she was optimistic about the prospect of crafting a glove. He stays with me in my tent until I fall asleep, reading aloud softly in his silky voice. 

This morning, we leave the horses and harts tied up at camp. We leave Dorian behind, too, when it becomes apparent that he caught something miserable in the rain yesterday.

I know we’ve reached the right smuggler’s cave when I spot Hawke waiting for us. Varric breaks out in a grin when he sees her whittling a small piece of wood with one of her elegant daggers.

“Care you don’t take off a finger,” Varric warns lightly.

“Had to do _something _while I waited,” she smirks, sheathing her blade and tossing him the wood-carved object—a hand with the middle finger pointing up that Varric grins at and pockets. “I’ve been here all of…what…two hours? Long time to sit around.”

Varric snorts. “You’ve only been here a couple hours? I’d’a figured you’d beat us here by days.” 

Hawke shrugs indifferently, offering a winsome smile. “Had to see an elf about a horse along the way.” Varric rolls his eyes. “Inquisitor, it’s good to see you again.”

“And you, Hawke.”

“My contact should be at the back of the cave. Fair warning, he’s a little, uh…_wary _of newcomers.”

“Mm, thanks for the heads up.”

“In fact, for this first meeting, it might be best if it’s a couple of us. I’ll join you, of course. Not because it will ease his tension, mind you; I’m just nosy.” I laugh, interrupting her. “Perhaps the rest of your companions can wait outside?”

“Blackwall is a Grey Warden, too,” I muse. “Would it help seeing a familiar face?”

“I’ve never met this Warden Stroud,” Blackwall corrects quickly. “Don’t know how comforting my presence would be anyway, seeing as how the Wardens are hunting them down.”

“Fair point. Varric?”

“I’ll keep the other miscreants in line,” he says, jabbing his thumb at Solas and Cassandra in particular.

I laugh and nod. “Good luck with that. After you, then, Hawke.”

“Oh, if you insist,” Hawk replies airily and regally.

I grin, walking alongside her.

“So, you’re Dalish, mm?”

“Vallaslin give me away?”

“Actually, it was the way you wear your hair. _Very _Dalish.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yes, my clan is—was—from the Free Marches.”

“Oh? Not Keeper Marethari’s clan?” she checks.

“No, uh—Keeper Deshanna.”

“What a coincidence _that _would have been. Merrill’s from Marethari’s clan. We found her when we—well, I guess it’s a long story.” Hawke laughs. “Tell me something. I’ve been curious about this for years. Are you familiar with someone called Asha’bellanar?”

“Uh—no, I can’t say I am. I know what it means, of course.”

“Really? What _does _it mean? No one would tell me. Though…to be fair, it wasn’t really the right ‘time’ for 'inane questions,' I guess.” She sighs.

“It's elven for ‘the Woman of Many Years.’”

“Oooh,” Hawke hums. “Very interesting. _Very _interesting _indeed_.”

“How did you come upon the name?”

“Oh, you know how it is. A dragon saves you from rampaging darkspawn, turns into a woman, offers you a deal, you take her amulet to a Dalish clan, _she _pops out of it after some magical words—usual stuff, really.”

“Mm, boring,” I agree.

“Very mundane.”

“Okay, so, I’ll admit to reading Varric’s book on you. Naturally, it didn't mention _any _of this, but...”

“Fascinating read,” she nods agreeably.

“You read it?”

“Of course! It’s about how great _I _am.”

I smirk at her. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’ve been waiting for this. _Yes_, I will sign it for you.”

Another laugh tumbles out of me. “Fenris—he wasn’t Dalish?”

“Ah, no. He was a slave.”

“Oh.”

“He ran from his slaver—a magister named Danarius. Varric didn’t add this in the book at my request. We found the magister and killed him. We’ve been tracking down other slavers since all that business in Kirkwall, for the most part.”

“Where is he now?”

“_Right_ now? Probably sleeping. He _is _rather lazy.”

I laugh loudly.

“When I left him, he was in Jader.”

“Oh, close by, then.”

She nods with a fond smile. “He insisted on traveling with me, the sap.”

I grin.

“Though I suppose it’s good he didn’t make it to Skyhold with me. I doubt very much he’d get on with your friend Dorian.”

I grimace. “I know, but Dorian is very different. I…have my own problems with magisters, and then there was the one at Redcliffe—”

“Heard about that ordeal. Varric was rather colorful.”

“It was a…colorful experience,” I laugh. “But Dorian is…I’ve spoken with him at length. While he has his faults—we’re certainly at odds on a few issues—he’s a good man.”

“I don’t think that would stop Fenris from trying to rip his heart out. He’s very fond of ripping hearts out.”

I laugh again as we come to a door. I glance at Hawke, and she lavishly gestures me forward, making me grin. I push it open and step inside.

The place is lit with a variety of braziers, candles, and torches, the light reflecting off the damp walls and puddled floors. A cluttered desk stands at the back surrounded by a thick cluster of stalagmites.

I walk a few more steps before I hear the all-too-familiar ring of a sword against its sheath. I turn around to see a man in a Warden uniform brandishing his weapon uncomfortably close to my neck.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I say quietly.

“Stroud, Stroud, Stroud,” Hawke tsks with a sigh. “Howwill you _ever _make any friends? It’s me, Hawke, your newest and bestest friend in the world. That fine lady you’re pointing your sword at is the Inquisitor? Herald of Andraste? Closer of the Breach? Sparkly hand? Punched Corypheus in the balls at Haven? Anything?”

“Inquisitor,” Stroud says, lowering his sword before Hawke has finished her list. “Forgive me,” he adds in a thick Orlesian accent. “My name is Stroud; I am at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I offer lightly. “Just—quick note…I’m mildly obsessed with Grey Wardens. I won’t be weird, I promise.” I clear my throat, earning a winsome smirk from Hawke. “I very much appreciate you meeting with me. I know the Wardens have their own troubles. Not to be too blunt, but…do those troubles have anything to do with Corypheus?”

“I fear it is so,” Stroud nods solemnly. “When my friend Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was happy to put the matter to rest. But an Archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared Corypheus might possess the same power. My investigation uncovered clues but no proof. Then, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

“The Calling?” I repeat.

“Oh,” Hawke murmurs. “That’s…not good.”

“The Calling?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wonders.

“It was a Grey Warden matter,” Stroud answers her. “I was bound by an oath of secrecy.”

“The Calling?” I repeat.

Stroud sighs. “I may as well tell you now…The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim him. Starts with dreams. Then come whispers in his head. The Warden says his farewells and goes to the Deep Roads to meet his death in combat.”

Hawke sighs. “And every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing that right now? They think they’re dying?”

“Yes,” Stroud nods. “Likely because of Corypheus.”

“Well,” Hawke hums. “This just…gets better and better.” 

“If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the next Blight? It is our greatest fear.”

“And now mine, thanks very much,” Hawke mumbles. “You kicked spiders out of the top position. Impressive.”

“So…” I frown. “Let me get this straight. Corypheus isn’t _controlling _them. He’s bluffing them into thinking they’re dying, and they’re falling for it?”

“I am afraid so,” Stroud replies.

“How—is that even possible? How can he make them hear the Calling simultaneously?”

“I cannot say. We know little about him, save that he is dangerous. He is a magister as well as a darkspawn—and speaks with the voice of the Blight. That lets him affect the minds of Wardens, since we are tied to the Blight ourselves.”

I frown again. “How are you connected to the Blight?”

“I cannot divulge every Warden secret. Even telling you this much is breaking my oath.”

“Alright,” I sigh. “You said they’re all hearing the Calling. Does that include you?”

“Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire. The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but…at times, I almost understand it. We must uncover what Corypheus has done and end it. This cannot stand.”

“So, the Wardens disappeared to, what...make some last, desperate attack against the darkspawn?”

“We are the only ones who can slay the Archdemon. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world.” Stroud sighs. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perished—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, waving my hands. “She _what_? How could she think _that _would help?”

“I honestly do not know. When I protested the plan as madness, my own comrades turned on me. Grey Wardens are gathering here,” Stroud says, pointing to a ruin on the map beside us. “It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach. Meet me there, and we will find answers.” He turns on his heel without further ado and marches out of the cave. 

“Thank you, best friend,” Hawke calls after him.

“Thank you!” I add.

Hawke makes a face at me. “Well…that was…fun.”

“Little…disappointing,” I reply. “I thought the Grey Wardens were…smarter than...blood magic rituals.”

“They’re a, uh, cheerful bunch. Very optimistic. Not prone to fatalism _at all_.”

I sigh heavily, and we make our way back through the cave silently, both lost in our own worlds.

Varric pushes himself off a wall when we emerge. “Well, he looked upbeat,” he mutters. “What’d he say?”

“Apparently all Grey Wardens have gone mad,” Hawke muses, “which is always good. And uh, something about a blood magic ritual in the Western Approach? Which definitely sounds…awesome…I really love blood magic. It makes me really happy. I’m just—very excited we get to do blood magic all over again. I really missed it, you know?”

Varric gives Hawke a quiet look that speaks of another tragedy in her life I don't know. When Hawke glances away, I suppose I understand the gist. 

I cross my arms loosely. “We need to pack up and…start making our way there. Hawke?”

“You’re stuck with me forever.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I knew you would be.”

Everyone turns around, and I glance at Solas as we walk. His expression is tight, clearly displeased with the Warden development. I walk beside him and offer my hand hesitantly. Solas smiles sweetly at me as he takes it. Though I hoped he would, I didn't _expect_ him to take me up on it. Warmth floods my chest in a shocking rush, heat climbing up my cheeks at the subtle admission, though I doubt the others would be surprised—or even care, really. I grin at him and then tighten my fingers, turning to smile at the horizon as we go.”

***

“Dorian, stop arguing with me,” I order.

“No,” he rasps, coughing. “I won’t hear of it.”

“You’re _obviously _sick.”

“Sick,” he permits, “not decrepit.”

“You can’t stop coughing, you can barely talk, and you’ve sneezed at least three times in the last minute.”

“Yes, all symptoms of a mere _cold_, not _death_.”

“You’re gonna get us all sick, Sparkles,” Varric complains.

“I’m not being sent home like some kind of wayward—”

“_Dorian_,” I sigh. “First off, I need this letter to be taken to Leliana. Do you see any ravens around here? I _could _go out of my way to track down an agent, or _you _could just do it for me. Secondly, we’re traveling to the Western Approach, which, last time I checked, isn’t exactly close. _Thirdly_, we’re going to be fighting all along the way like we _always _do, and when we there, we’re gonna fight a whole lot more. Do you seriously want to sit there like that and tell me you have the _energy _for all that?”

“I—” Dorian coughs, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, alright,” he sighs, falling back against the log behind him. “Fine. I’ll deliver your message.”

“_Thank _you,” I reply, tossing the letter to him. I clear my throat and glance at Blackwall awkwardly.

“Uh oh,” Varric smirks.

“What?” Blackwall says, looking between us. “Oh no—no, no, no, you’re not sending me back.”

“Dorian needs an escort.”

“No I don’t,” Dorian scoffs at the same time Blackwall says, “Then ask someone else.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Blackwall, Stroud said the Wardens all across Orlais were hearing the Calling.”

“Well, we’re not in Orlais.”

“I don’t really think geography is the point. I gather the Calling is just a terrible, really annoying thing to have buzzing around in your head, so—”

“I’m fit to fight. I already told you I’m not hearing anything. I’m fine.”

“And I believe you, which is why I’m asking you to make sure Dorian gets to Skyhold safely. I—”

“No,” he argues.

“_Fen’Harel_, did I suddenly bump my head? Am I not the Inquisitor here?” I demand, looking at Varric. He gives me a sympathetic shrug. “Let me _finish_, Blackwall, _please_. I’m asking Leliana to get Cullen’s troops together. I don’t think this Warden thing will end peacefully, and I'd feel safer with our soldiers on their way. _After _you get Dorian and the letter to Skyhold, by all means, come back with Leliana and Cullen to the Western Approach. But I need to know Dorian’s safe, and I don’t have time to divert to Skyhold just to do it myself. Gods help me, I would have saved myself this headache if I could have.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dorian retorts coughing before and after the statement.

“Noted,” I sigh impatiently. “I know you can. We _all _can. But the country isn’t safe. Rifts, bandits, red templars, Venatori—who the fuck knows what else? I’m asking you both to stop acting like _children _and listen to what I’m telling you to do—_ordering _you to do, or am I not the gods-damned Inquisitor here?”

“Look what you did, kids,” Varric smirks. “You made her angry. I’ve never seen her angry.”

“Alright,” Blackwall huffs. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Dorian agrees.

“_Thank _you!” I sigh, leaning back heavily against the log behind me. Solas gives me an amused smile from my side, his eyes bright in the firelight. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll keep traveling together, but when we reach the path to Orzammar, we separate—_got it_?”

“Yes,” they both sigh in unison.

“Great. Thank you for being so agreeable.”

“Now that _that’s _settled,” Varric hums. “I think we need some entertainment.”

Dorian shakes his head. “I’m far too sick for your brand of entertainment.”

“Oh, _now _you’re sick. Well, grab a handkerchief, because we’re playing a fine little game that I invented—”

“He didn’t invent it,” Hawke says.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet.”

“You’ve got a bunch of people sitting around a campfire. I know _exactly _what you’re talking about, and I know _exactly _how they’re all gonna react.”

“Don’t try to stop me—”

“Oh, no, I want to watch this collision. This will be _my _entertainment.”

Varric snorts. “Look at us all! We barely know each other!”

“We’ve been together for months,” Cassandra says with a disapproving frown.

“Traveling and fighting and giving inspirational speeches. But what’s my favorite color, hm? Or my middle name? Or my greatest fear?”

“Red, Percival, and being dragged to the Deep Roads again,” Hawke says without missing a beat.

Varric rewards her with a smirk. “That’s…not my middle name, Hawke.”

“It should be.”

“Two out of three's not bad. Come on, people. How much time have we spent together, just relaxing and enjoying each other’s company, huh, Seeker?”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes.

“What’s the game?” I wonder, folding my hands across my stomach. I throw my legs out over Solas’, avoiding the fire. He seems amused by the motion.

“Well, it’s not so much a game as a conversation, I suppose. We go around and tell everyone about the worst thing that’s ever happened to us—”

“What?”

“No.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Absolutely not.”

Hawke laughs loudly, clapping her hands.

“Would you all calm down?” Varric says quickly. “It’s therapeutic; more than that, it gives the Tevinter and the Dalish, the Seeker and the mage a chance to see that, when it all comes down to it, we’re just _people. _People with fears and regrets and all that shit.”

“I think we all know we’re people without the depressing monologues, thank you,” Dorian mutters.

“Come on, Sparkles. Who wants to go first?”

“No one, I think,” Hawke muses. “Any hands? No. Hm. Sad Varric.”

“Thank you for volunteering, Hawke.”

“Oh, so many good ones,” she muses. “Which one, which one…the worst day of my life…was meeting Sebastian.”

Varric throws his head back with a laugh, and Hawke's eyes gleam as she watches him. “Damn it, you stole mine.”

Hawke grins. "That's me done then. Good game."

“Fine, I’ll go first," Varric muses. "The worst experience of my life…one of them, anyway…Hm…I suppose it was the day I got Bianca.”

“Your crossbow?” Blackwall frowns.

“Yep.”

“Why? You love that thing.”

“It _officially _signified the end of something else.”

“Well that’s cryptic.”

“I never said you couldn’t be.”

“Cheater.”

“Hosts make their own rules.”

Blackwall snorts and laughs. “Fair enough, master dwarf.”

“Alright, come on. Someone top me.”

Dorian gives a wildly amused smirk. “Very interesting choice of works.”

“Andraste’s sacred knickers—thank you for volunteering.”

“Fine,” Dorian sighs. “I’m sick enough to not care. Mine was when I left Minrathous. My father—the charming Magister Pavus—tried to force me to be something I’m not. He…well, suffice it to say, he hurt me. Leaving home was…the hardest decision of my life.”

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” I offer quietly.

“Oh, it's not all bad; I got the chance to see Skyhold's dismal library and discover that one of the oldest mistakes of my homeland is alive and walking around, so.”

I grimace. "Who wouldn't want that?" 

“Who else?” Varric wonders. “Come on, volunteer or I’ll enlist you.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Hawke sighs. “I’ll play your twisted game. The worst day of my life was…” Hawke cocks her head, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Varric watches her protectively, despite this being his idea. “I believe the one that takes the cake is the day my mother was murdered by a charming man using a perverse blood magic spell. When we fled Lothering, back when the Blight was a thing, my brother died. Years later, I…foolishly brought my little sister to the Deep Roads where she died. My mother was all I had left, and then she was gone, too. I was _officially_ the last Hawke…But meeting Sebastian was a close second,” she adds quickly.

Varric looks down and away. “Seeker?”

Cassandra stares into the fire. “I…my brother…Anthony. He was older than I…a dragon hunter who showed what a Pentaghast could truly be. I idolized him,” she murmurs, her voice light and warm. “I wanted to hunt dragons as he did, even though our uncle forbade it. Anthony promised to train me in secret. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old.” She smiles softly, but it fades away as she continues to stare at the flames. “And then he died on me…A group of apostates wanted dragon blood and wanted Anthony to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me.”

“Shit,” Varric murmurs. “Is that why you became a Seeker?”

“I begged the Chantry to let me become a templar. Instead, they sent me to the Seekers. It took many years to let go of my drive for vengeance. At times I could not breathe. The rage nearly choked me. I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if Anthony was still alive. Would I be a dragon hunter? Married to some noble fool, a mother of three? I cannot say. I take solace in believing the Maker has a plan, but…He is not always kind.”

“I’m so sorry, Cassandra,” I murmur quietly. She nods slowly.

“Blackwall?” Varric asks.

“No. I don’t want to play.”

“Come on, we’re all—”

“No.”

Varric sighs. “Fine. Only because you scare me. Chuckles?”

Solas stares into the fire. It doesn't look like he's going to participate, either, but his eyes are filled with a pain so old that I realize I’m terrified to know.

“I’ll go,” I offer, glancing at Varric briefly. My clan is still too fresh; I can't think about it or I'll break down, so I choose something else. “Okay…uh.” I sit up, folding my legs under me. “I rarely left my clan. My keeper asking me to attend the Conclave was a wildly unusual request, but…Basically a group of us was sent to have negotiations with another Dalish clan—which was also unusual. I was sent as part of the attaché, I guess you could call it, because I am—was my keeper’s First—”

“What’s a First?” Dorian wonders. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s—” I look down clearing my throat. “Basically meant I was supposed to take over as Keeper for my clan.”

“Oh…”

“Anyway,” I say quickly, shaking my head to rid myself of those thoughts, “as her First, I was sent with several hunters. The Dalish we were going to negotiate with…not all Dalish are the same—some are…less peaceful than my clan. This clan in particular was causing some trouble, and we—well, it doesn’t really matter. My—friends and I went to the Dalish clan to talk with them, but—” I chew my cheek. “It was a massacre when we got there. The men were already dead, and the female hunters were being pinned to the ground. Many of them died fighting. Children were—being beaten and chained, dragged through the camp kicking and screaming…” I stare into the fire unseeingly. “Magister Arari Anodatus, I later learned. My clansmen and I began to fight his mages as they took slaves. Our hunters are trained to _defend _our people if needed, but we’ve never…had a reason to prepare for an actual battle—against mages of all things. They—all died. I almost did. The magister—captured me. Chained me, gagged me. I was—dragged through the blood of my people in cuffs that negated my magic.”

“How—how did you escape?” Dorian asks, horrified.

I sigh heavily. “A group of humans, actually. Templars—of all things, on their way to Ostwick, I imagine. My keeper had always taught me to be wary of the templars, but I screamed out to them for help, terrified at…well, you know. They subdued the mages’ mana, capturing most of them. One of the mages set himself on fire. Two of them used blood magic and...turned into abominations. The magister threw his men to the templars so he could escape. And he did. When the templars freed me, I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I just ran—ran for days back to my clan, bloodied and terrified. Keeper Deshanna moved our camp after we recovered the bodies of our hunters. We left that area and never went back.” I realize everyone’s staring at me, and I glance down. 

“Maker’s balls, Snow.”

Dorian looks away. “I—for what it’s worth…I don’t…I’m sorry, Sul. I—I don’t know if this would…” He looks at me. “Magister Anodatus—I knew him. Not personally, of course, but everyone was talking about it back then. He was killed by his…servants…if that’s of any…consolation.”

“What happened to them?” I ask.

Dorian looks down.

I nod quietly, staring at the fire.

Solas’ hand falls to my knee. I glance over at him to see him stare vacantly at the fire, his expression far away.

“Does this game of yours have an upbeat conclusion?” I wonder, smirking at Varric. “Or are we supposed to go to bed depressed as shit?”

“What? Oh…yeah, yeah, of course…Yeah, we, uh…We go around and say something good—a better memory.”

“Oh, that’s me—I got this one,” Hawke says quickly. “Called it. Dibs.”

Everyone but Solas looks at her gratefully. He finds my hand, and I look over at him, interlacing our fingers. His grip is so tight that I pull my other hand over to it as I find Hawke again.

“Varric, don’t say a _word_,” she orders. “You know the story, so not a peep.”

He holds his hands up defensively. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Alright, so we have this friend Aveline—”

Varric cracks up, throwing his head back.

“Shh,” Hawke laughs loudly. “Shh—not a word. So, we have this friend Aveline. She’s guard-captain now in Kirkwall. If you ever meet her, please, _please _tell her I told you this. Alright, so, back then, she was new to the office. Now, for the record, she’s a tough, no-nonsense, intolerable, rule-following, by-the-book sort of woman, but she had fallen _madly _in love with one of her guardsmen, a charming man named Donnic.” Varric raises a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh. “So, she comes to me for help. She’d been married before, but she’s somehow still _terrible _at this. So, she comes to me, convinces me—Maker knows why I agreed—to invite Donnic out to drinks after his shift. It’s _supposed _to be so she can talk to him, but she never shows, so it’s just me and Donnic sitting there like a couple’a jackasses at the Hanged Man.

“He thinks _I’m _interested in him, and he keeps trying to politely leave, but I keep making him stay, because I’m hoping Aveline will show at any moment. I haven’t given up on her, Maker help me. After _hours _of _painful_ conversation with a man as interesting as a plank of wood, Aveline finally shows and then _runs _right back out the door—a woman who, mind you, fought and killed darkspawn and kicked her previous, corrupt captain out of office without flinching—fled from the scene of the date. Donnic finally had enough and left, more confused than when he’d arrived.

“So, a week passes, and Aveline puts herself and Donnic on patrol together—a nice stroll through the outer perimeter of Kirkwall, right? She makes me go ahead of them to clear the path of any danger so she can speak with Donnic. Well, there we are—” Hawke nudges Varric. “—like a bunch of _jackasses_ clearing the bandits so those two hopeless idiots get just get it on already. When we finally reach the end of the route, we wait _hours_ for them to come up the road, and we’re all making bets about what state they’ll be in when they do.”

Most everyone laughs, and Hawke grins, shoving Varric.

“This one’s sure they’ll be adjusting armor and brushing their hair back like nothing happened, Fenris says they won’t do anything, and I’m convinced that they won’t arrive at all to meet us. So, when they finally _do _come up the road, I just die. I completely lose it. Both of those idiots are just awkwardly looking away from each other, and I realize that Aveline didn’t say a _word _to him the whole time.” Most everyone laughs again, Blackwall loudest of all. “So, when they finally stop before us, Donnic is a little confused to see us all waiting. Aveline is giving me this eyes-screaming look, begging me not to say anything, but how could I not?” she laughs. I glance at Solas, hoping he’s enjoying the story, but he's staring at the fire while everyone laughs in anticipation.

“So,” Hawke continues, “then Fenris—now, I know this might not mean anything, because you don’t know him, but trust me, for _him _of all people—brooding as he is—to say this, I just died, and I’ve never seen anyone resemble a tomato more than poor Aveline. Donnic asks what’s going on, and Fenris, without missing a beat, just says, _so disinterestedly_, ‘she wants you. It is pathetic…and admirable.’”

Varric throws his head back, cackling at Hawke’s deep-voiced impersonation.

Hawke’s laughter rings out like bells, and most everyone joins her. I raise my free hand to my lips, shaking with my own laugh as I watch her closely.

“I honestly thought Aveline would gut him right there. And then Donnic looks at her, panicked, and she just gives this weak little laugh. And then Varric is like, ‘will you two just get it over with already? We’ve been here for _hours_.’” Hawke laughs too hard to speak, and Blackwall’s laughter roars over all of us. “Poor Aveline looks ready to _die_—”

“Wait, wait, Maker,” Varric gasps, “you’re forgetting what you did. It’s the best part of this whole thing.”

“What’d I do?” 

Varric turns to us. “Hawke just looks at them both for a moment and then goes, ‘you…and you…_hmm_?’ For a really long time—”

Blackwall cackles loudly, and Hawke throws her head back, clapping once.

“Maker, I forgot I did that! I thought she’d never forgive me!”

“What happened?” I laugh. “Did they ever—”

“Oh, yeah,” Hawke laughs, nodding. “They got married, the idiots—finally. Every once in a while, Aveline just sends me a message with something like, ‘thank you for humiliating me.’”

Blackwall laughs again. “Good for them.”

“Maker’s balls,” Varric gasps, wiping his eyes. “I miss those guys.”

“Those were the good ol’ days,” Hawke agrees. “Oddly enough. I mean, everyone wanted to kill us and there was always some new archenemy, but we had fun.”

“Yeah we did,” Varric chuckles. “You know what else?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt more threatened in my _life _than when I beat Fenris at Wicked Grace.”

Hawke cackles loudly. “I thought he was going to flip the table!”

“I think he did,” Varric replies. “Snow, we _have _to get a game going when we’re all back at Skyhold. Hawke is a _legend_.”

“Deal,” I grin.

“Just don’t expect to walk away with any money left in your pockets.”

That cracks me up again. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“_Yes_!” Hawke celebrates. “No one will play with me anymore.”

“You’re too good,” Varric replies.

“No, no, no,” she says, smiling innocently at us. “I’ve never played before. Wicked—Mace, you say?”

I grin and laugh.

“Everybody in?” Varric asks. “Good. Wicked Grace. Herald’s Rest, after all this Warden shit is handled. We’ll all get pommeled by Hawke.”

“Just as it should be,” Hawke grins. “We’ll get Fenris to come, too.”

“_Yes_,” Varric nods. “I want to see his face when you beat him again. Just, make sure to hide the wine bottles. He has a proclivity for throwing them.”

Hawke laughs loudly. “It’s true. Fun fact, by the way, Wicked Grace was actually named after me.”

Varric snorts and elbows her.

I grin. “Alright, you've all outlasted me. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Yes, me too,” Varric says, yawning. “Thanks, Hawke, and everyone. That was fun. Well, the second part was fun.”

I smirk at him, standing up. Solas rises with me, his expression distant. I glance to see that the others aren't paying attention before I pull him slowly into my tent, sitting on the bedrolls.

“Are you alright?” I murmur as he kneels before me. 

“Yes,” Solas replies quietly, playing with my fingers. “Ir abelas, vhenan. Everything you’ve…endured...”

“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him down with me. I lay on my side, and he moves onto his back, staring at the top of the tent. I scoot over to him, throwing my arm over his chest and my leg over one of his, trying to drag him from his thoughts. “I hope you’ve no intention of leaving, because I’m very comfortable.”

Solas moves his hand to my hair, brushing it absently.

“Good night, Solas,” I whisper.

“Good night, vhenan.”

I smile at the name and close my eyes, hoping that he’ll still be here when I wake up.


	30. Here Lies the Abyss

It takes us a solid three weeks to make it to the Western Approach from Crestwood. The mountains around Orzammar delay us with packed, thick snow, and then the heat starts to get to us all when we finally move into the deserts of western Orlais. By the time we arrive at the Inquisition camp in the Approach, we’re all a little ornery. Hawke separates from us to go find Stroud near the tower. While the heat has demolished my patience entirely, it seems to have had no effect whatsoever on Scout Harding’s optimism.

“Inquisitor!” she calls when we arrive. “Welcome to the Western Approach. I hope your travels went smoothly. We’ve sighted Warden activity to the southwest, but no one’s been close enough to figure out what they’re doing. Leliana received your message and sent us ahead, obviously,” she adds with a smile. “Between the sandstorms and the vicious wildlife, we haven’t made it far out here yet. One of my men got too close to a poison hot spring and gave me a…slightly _delirious _report of a high dragon flying overhead. In short: this might just be the worst place in the entire world.”

That makes me laugh, despite the heat. “And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse than the Fallow Mire.”

“Inquisition likes to keep you on your toes,” she grins. “Well, be careful out there. Try not to die. I don’t want to have to deliver that report to Skyhold. We intercepted a Venatori messenger and…_persuaded _him to give up the orders he was carrying. We have them here. This entire place…it just feels like something’s not right. Be careful, alright?”

“You, too, Scout Harding.”

“Leliana also asked me to inform you that she, Cullen, the Chargers, and a whole legion of Inquisition soldiers are on their way to back you up. Should be just a day or so out. Blackwall, on the other hand..." She gestures to the side, and I smile when I see him. He approaches Cassandra with a smirk, saying something that makes her roll her eyes impatiently. "He traveled ahead to meet you here before you went to the tower."

“That man," I sigh, smirking. "Thank you, Scout Harding.”

“Your Worship,” she nods, smiling as she passes.

I sigh heavily as I stare across the desert. Miles and miles of endless sand, all shimmering in the wild heat. This is going to fucking suck.

***

Several hot, miserable hours later, we find ourselves nearing the Tevinter ritual tower. I wipe my forehead irritably, pulling as much of my hair off my neck as I can. I’ve half a mind to chop it off right now—gods-damned heat. We encountered several rifts along the way, as well as poisonous beasts, winged creatures larger than a draft horse, and the high dragon. It ignored us, swooping overhead while I watched in awe.

The wildlife was bad enough, but the rifts took a great deal from us all. My hand is aching, but I refuse to let Solas heal it. I know his mana must be even more strained than mine at the moment. When he offers to help me, I vaguely wave my hand to stop him, too drained from the piercing heat to even decline politely. Sweat clings to my skin, sticking my hair to my neck and face. I don’t know how Cassandra appears to be alright, I honestly don’t, because I’m dying in my Dalish robes; she must be overheated in her armor, but she never complains. The only thing that betrays her discomfort is the steady roll of sweat down her temples and the ruddy tint to her skin. 

I reach up again, angrily pulling my hair into a messy bun, tying it off quickly. Strands of it still fall to my neck along my temples, but it is significantly better.

“Snow,” Varric gasps. “We’ve—been a lot of places—but this one is _by far _the worst place. I see now—why Hawke went ahead of us—”

“To avoid the fights?” I muse.

“She’s probably—in the shade right now. We should’ve brought the horses.”

“Too hot for them,” I reply, wiping my forehead. “They’d just be miserable.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs.

“Hey, I think that’s it," I say, pointing ahead. "Unless it’s a mirage. Please don't be a mirage.”

Blackwall chuckles. “No mirage. It’s the tower.”

“Thank the gods,” I gasp, reaching for my water sack. I take a small sip, though everything in me is demanding I drain the whole thing. “Everyone good on water?” I ask, glancing behind me.

“Yep,” Blackwall nods, patting his canteen.

“Varric?”

“I’m good, Snow.”

“Cassandra?”

“I’m fine, Inquisitor.”

“Solas?” 

He meets my eyes and smiles kindly, indicating he's alright.

I take another small sip and force myself to put my water away.

When we arrive at the entrance to the lower—a large stone wall that’s crumbled and falling apart around the edges—I see Hawke sitting against a wall, miserable in the shade. Stroud stands beside her, his arms folded behind his back respectfully.

“Thank the Maker,” Hawke complains, pulling herself to her feet. “Thought I might die from dehydration before you arrived.”

“I’m glad you made it, Inquisitor,” Stroud nods. “I fear they’ve already started the ritual.”

“You take point,” Hawke says. “I’ll guard your backs and complain under my breath.”

Varric pats her arm as we pass, and I follow Stroud down the long bridge. I glance over the edge at the canyon below. It’s so far down that I can’t even see the bottom. Dizziness washes over me, and I jerk back into Solas accidently.

“For the love of all that is green, _no one _look down there,” I mutter when he catches me.

We move closer to the tower, and I feel sick to my stomach when I see Warden bodies strewn bloodily along the edges. I clench my jaw and see several people above us at the tower. Several demons sit peacefully alongside an even number of Wardens. Two men fight in the middle, one of them holding his hands up defensively while the other tries to slash at him.

“Wait, no!” the defensive man pleads.

Behind him, on an elevated platform above a flight of stairs, a man with dark hair watches, entertained before he intervenes. “Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear,” he sighs impatiently.

“This is wrong!”

“Remember your oath,” he says disinterestedly. “In war, victory—in peace, vigilance—in death…”

The second Warden approaches the first, thrusting the dagger into his back.

“Sacrifice.”

A rift flutters and flares, forming long enough to allow a demon through. It hesitates and then dulls, blending into the background. It remains open, as if waiting. 

“Good,” the leader calls. “Now, bind it, just as I showed you.”

The Warden raises his hand as the rage demon watches angrily. Green energy spikes, connecting the two briefly, and then the demon sags. The leader waves his hand, red energy clinging to his glove. The Warden’s eyes glow with the same bloody color, and then both Warden and demon move to the side of the tower, their expressions blank, their bodies no longer their own.

I feel sicker, the heat and the horror of this reality getting to me. 

The leader looks up, spotting us as we arrive at the tower. “Inquisitor,” he calls, “what an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.” He bows lavishly, his arms both sweeping low.

“You are no Warden,” Stroud spits.

“Ah, Ser Stroud,” the man greets. “I see you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

“Wardens,” Blackwall calls. “He’s deceiving you—Corypheus has—”

“Oh,” Erimond interrupts, “were you hoping to garner sympathy? Maybe make the Wardens feel a bit of remorse? Wardens, hands up!” They all raise their hands in unison, mindlessly staring ahead. I feel even sicker, and I glare at the man on the platform. “Hands down.” Their hands drop in unison again.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Stroud says angrily. “He has poisoned them.”

“Yes,” Erimond sighs. “And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan—raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“That’s—_madness_!” Blackwall roars.

“I was wondering when the demon army would pop up,” I add lightly, trying to maintain control over my horror.

“You…knew about that, did you? Well, then…here you are. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves.” He smirks. “Your people are familiar with how slavery works, yes? They have to do what I say, when I say it.”

I clench my jaw, glaring at him. My right hand clenches my staff so hard it hurts.

“This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” I reply, summoning my mana.

The fireball lunges off my staff readily. In a move I’ve never seen before, Erimond sweeps his own staff through the air, redirecting it almost lazily. The fireball flies away from him into the sky before disappearing. 

“Please, elf girl,” Erimond scoffs. He reaches forward, his hand glowing with the same red energy as—

A scream is yanked from me as my left hand is jerked up from my side. Pain explodes inside it, roaring angrily as green and red energy swirl around my gloved fingers. I fall to my knees hard, screaming again without meaning to as my eyes flood.

“Suledin!” Solas falls beside me.

I grip my wrist, crying out again as I bend forward, groaning at the white-hot pain.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you,” Erimond smiles, “in the event you were _foolish _enough to interfere again.” I look up at him dizzily, gasping and groaning. The rift between us glimmers. He closed it, but he couldn’t seal it. My mind races and reels at the pain as I try to summon enough energy to open the rift again. “That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil?” I blink in surprise. _That _information is new. “You _stole _that from my master. He’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

I choke out a sobbing laugh, pulling myself up to my feet. My hand throbs and shakes violently. Solas rises with me tensely, his hand gripping my arm. I raise my left hand to Erimond, stumbling forward once as my body shakes in rejection.

“When I bring him your hand, his gratitude will be—”

He cries out in surprise when the rift bursts open. I scream again, my hand aching, fire licking along my skin. A grunting sob is pulled from me, and I turn it into a laugh as Erimond flies backwards.

“What was that you were saying?” I gasp.

“Kill them!” Erimond orders, sagging over. I try to catch his foot in ice, but I miss dizzily, stumbling forward. He runs off before I can try again.

I pick up my staff, unable to see through my tears. Solas raises a barrier over me, holding it tightly while the others charge forward. I gasp, looking at my hand briefly to see it still tinged with red and green, light flaring thickly and angrily.

“Fuck,” I groan, shaking violently. I thrust my staff forward, watching a fireball consume a Warden as he runs at me. Solas stands right beside me, maintaining the barrier seemingly without effort. His staff moves fluidly, defending us. A rage demon slides close, and I freeze it in place dizzily, groaning.

I raise my quaking hand up to the rift again, my fingers twitching sporadically. I make a claw with my hand, searching for the edges of the rift. My mind reels, and I can’t focus or see or think. I stumble forward, weak and unsteady. My fingers jerk open, and I scream again. Suddenly, the rift explodes inward. Wardens hit the ground, heavy plate armor screeching against the stone. They flip over, scratching against the ground with gauntleted fingers as they’re pulled into the rift. Demons and Wardens tumble through, and then the rift closes, sealing like it was never there.

Everyone turns to me in shock. I don’t know what I did, and I’m in too much pain to think about it.

“Snow! That was _awesome_! How did—”

I fall to the ground, clutching my hand with a sobbing scream. Red energy still corrupts the green, and my fingers jerk wildly. I rip my glove off, rocking a little. “Solas—Solas—” I cry.

He drops in front of me.

“What’s happening?” Cassandra asks with a panicked voice, kneeling beside me. She moves her hand to my shoulder. “What has he done to you?”

“Snow—you alright?”

“Solas, please—” I sob, tightening my fingers against my wrist. “Please—make it stop—please—” I want to beg Blackwall or Cassandra to just cut my arm off to spare me the pain, but I bite my tongue, keeping those thoughts to myself. 

Solas frantically grabs my hand, moving my other hand out of the way. He grips my fingers tightly, murmuring as his hands glow a brilliant blue that clashes with the green and red.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra breathes.

“Please—” I beg. 

Solas’ words move more swiftly, his eyes on mine. I sob again, squeezing my eyes shut as tears stream down my cheeks.

“It’s not—it’s not working—Solas—” I groan, gripping his wrist with my right hand too tightly.

Solas closes his eyes, trying to concentrate while I panic. He speaks his words more clearly as he starts over, as if afraid he misspoke the first time.

“What did he do to her?” Varric whispers.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra murmurs, squeezing my shoulder worriedly.

“Solas,” I cry, shaking when his spell is nearly finished again. “It isn’t working, it—”

Solas' eyes meet mine with open panic. He looks around, searching for a solution before his expression tightens. He glances at me again with determination and then closes his eyes, tightening his grip. He brings my hand to his chest, and I feel his heart hammering as he takes a steadying breath.

“Please,” I beg, crying and shaking even more violently. His fingers become glass on my skin, my blood boiling. Cracks race up my bones, creating long crevices that paralyze me. “Solas, what did he do—please—Mythal, please—”

Solas frowns in concentration as I babble incoherently. His words change. The spell wraps around my hand, the words archaic and unfamiliar. I choke out a strangled sob, hanging my head.

Cassandra’s hand tightens on me. “What can we do? Inquisitor, can we _do _anything?”

I shake my head, gasping and groaning. Sweat beads my forehead, rolling down my temples as I shake and cry, unable to withhold the pained and panicked sobs. I writhe against Solas’ fingers, my hand spasming so much that it jerks him a little. He holds onto me tightly, his other fingers pressing agonizingly against my wrist. 

I force my lips to seal when I realize I'm begging him again. I bite my tongue, trying to soften my sounds unsuccessfully. 

Solas’ brow furrows in concentration, his grip growing painfully tight. 

Finally, finally, the pain begins to ease off. Its strain lightens only a fraction, but it makes a world of difference. I groan, tears chasing sweat as they roll down off my chin.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes—yes—that’s working—Solas—”

Solas’ fingers grip me so firmly that they would hurt if they didn't bring such relief. He concentrates harder, his ancient words rolling smoothly off his tongue. I feel the melody of elven, but I've never heard this dialect before; the words swirl around me with a familiarity that itches in the back of my mind and warms my chest. 

Slowly, the pain fades, and then I collapse against the stone wall beside me, crying in relief now. “Thank you,” I whimper, drained. “Thank you—”

I force myself to sit upright again. Solas sways slightly, his breaths growing shallow as he works. My hand feels numb between his and cold—so cold. I embrace it compared with the fire.

Solas opens his eyes, his words moving quietly as he finishes. He searches my eyes, his expression tight. Beyond that, I see a wave of exhaustion in him that brings a flood of guilt to me. I nod, gasping as my head grows heavy.

“I’m sorry,” I pant. “I’m so sorry—” I release Solas’ wrist, seeing the long, angry red lines my fingers left. He loosens his grip on me slowly until his hands disappear. I rub my right hand over my face, breathing raggedly. I pick up my glove and pull it on delicately, my skin a little sensitive still. I grip Solas’ arm weakly, and he helps me to my feet. I lean against the wall, holding onto him weakly.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra says anxiously. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I pant. “I’m sorry.”

“What just happened?”

“Nothing, it’s fine, it’s just—the mark hurts sometimes, and whatever Erimond did…It’s alright now. Solas fixed it.”

Cassandra gapes at me, her expression a little broken. “The Anchor hurts you?” she breathes.

I look down at the ground, wiping my cheeks again. “I’m sorry.”

“I did not—you never—”

“I didn’t want to—concern everyone needlessly. It’s fine. The Anchor still works just fine, Cassandra; don't worry, it hasn't affected by abilities. It can still close the—”

“It’s not about the Anchor,” Varric argues. “It’s—we didn’t _know _that it was—this much of a—that it _hurts _you like this.”

“It doesn’t,” I reply shakily, my voice wavering as I grip Solas’ arm more tightly for balance. My head fills unfocused and dizzy. “That was—it was whatever—whatever Corypheus taught Erimond. Dagna is working on a solution.”

“_Dagna _knew about this?” Cassandra demands, looking hurt now. “She’s been at Skyhold for five minutes.”

“She’s our Arcanist.”

“Alright,” Blackwall says loudly and gruffly. “Quit grillin’ her. Point is, she’s still our Inquisitor, and she’s alright. We need to focus on what we do next.”

I nod weakly in reply, gesturing to him.

“Right…Well…” Hawke murmurs. “As far as…blood rituals go, that was particularly horrifying.”

“You were correct,” Stroud says to her. “Through their ritual, the Warden mages are slaves to Corypheus.”

Hawke shakes her head. “What a waste.”

“I can’t believe they’d do this,” I say hoarsely. “Wardens are…supposed to be heroes. How could they…”

“Exactly,” Hawke says angrily. “It’s past time we stop this madness. To perform blood rituals to attack Old Gods?”

“The Wardens were wrong, Hawke,” Stroud allows, “but they had their reasons.”

Hawke glares at him. “Sure. Everyone has a little story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions—and it never matters. In the end, you are always alone with your actions, with your decisions. I’ve more than paid for my mistakes. It’s time they pay for theirs.”

Stroud sighs as Varric looks up at Hawke sadly. “I believe I know where the Wardens are headed, Your Worship,” Stroud says to me. “Erimond fled in that direction.” He points across the canyon to the south. “There’s an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant.”

I nod slowly, unable to focus on his face. “Good thinking.” I swallow thickly, my vision doubling and blurring as I look down.

“The Champion and I will scout out Adamant and confirm that the other Wardens are there.”

I nod, my knees uncomfortably wobbly. “Cullen and Leliana are on their way with soldiers. Meet us back at our camp northeast of here when you’re finished. We’ll come up with a plan."

“As you say, Your Worship,” Stroud nods.

“Take some time to rest,” Hawke suggests, giving me a worried tone. “We’ll see you soon.”

I watch them go and then turn to Cassandra. “You and Blackwall go on ahead with Varric. I need to speak with Solas.”

“Are you alright, Snow?” Varric asks quietly.

“Yes,” I nod loosely. “I’m alright. I’m sorry. I’ll be back at camp soon. Be careful on the way back,” I add when they turn around.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Cassandra murmurs, glancing concernedly at me before they depart.

I wait, watching them cross the bridge. When they’re out of sight, I release a strangled breath, sliding to the ground. Solas kneels beside me, taking my hand.

“How did he do that?” I whisper, panicked tears streaking down my cheeks.

Solas catches them, his expression worried. “I don’t know,” he admits.

I raise one of my knees and rest my elbow on it, bringing my fingers up to cover my eyes. I breathe out as evenly through my lips as I can, struggling to maintain control.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I panicked. I didn’t mean to—”

“Never apologize to me,” Solas replies quietly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to panic like that. Shit,” I sigh, wiping my wet eyes. I lean my head back against the wall, closing them as I attempt to catch my breath.

Solas brings my hand to his chest, holding it firmly. “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” I breathe. “It’s so fucking hot,” I add with a strangled laugh. Solas brings his fingers to my cheek, his skin cold. “Don’t,” I whisper reluctantly. “Save your mana.”

He doesn’t reply, his fingers growing colder in the unforgiving sun.

“Thank you,” I murmur. “You’re…so good to me.” I wince at how weird that comes out. “That sounded less idiotic in my head,” I add. I sigh heavily, looking down. “Well, I guess they’ll have a few questions when we get back.”

“They worry for you because they care.”

“I forgot to swear them to secrecy under pain of death,” I joke weakly.

“I don’t think they would do anything to hurt you.”

I nod, warmth spreading in my chest when I slowly realize that’s true. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“When?”

“When I meet Corypheus again.” I close my eyes, fear gripping me. “If he can incapacitate me like that with a wave of his hand—” I shake my head. “I-I don’t—I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how to protect myself from that. I didn’t know he could…do that, much less teach_others_ to do it.”

Solas’ expression grows tight and far away. “I’m so sorry, vhenan,” he whispers.

I close my eyes, breathing out heavily. Fear makes my heart pound in my chest, and I feel too weak to stand. My hand is calm for now, but the truth of my words haunts me. I can’t defend myself against that kind of attack, and I don’t know what I’ll do if it happens again. I'll become a liability. 

I tighten my fingers on Solas’ weakly, wiping at my tears when I feel them tickle my cheek. First things first, I suppose. We have to deal with Erimond. I don’t imagine for a second that will be easy.


	31. In War, Victory

I emerge from my tent, shielding my eyes from the bright afternoon light, to find Varric and Hawke talking quietly near where Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen are waiting at the camp's war table. The outpost has more than quadrupled in size, tents scattered thickly across the sand to accommodate all our soldiers. I see Bull and a few of his Chargers running drills out in the blazing sun; Cassandra, too, is preparing herself, sparring with Blackwall. Considering the sweat already dewing my brow and sticking my hair to my skin, I think I would probably die in their places. I'll never know where they find their stamina.

I turn away, moving towards the others slowly. 

Hawke smiles at me as I arrive. “I told them what we found at Adamant. Your war council’s discussing options now. Also, kudos on the war council.”

I smirk at her. “Thanks, Hawke.”

“Great,” Varric sighs, glancing at me. “Now would you _please _order her to go back to Jader before Broody removes my heart from my chest?”

Hawke snorts. “No, I’m seeing this through. Fenris will understand that.”

Varric stares at her. "Wait, he doesn't already knowyou're here?" 

Hawke looks away. "Mm? What?"

"_Marion_!"

Hawke cringes. "Maker, the first name. I've really done it now."

"Why wouldn't you tell him you're doing this?! I-I thought you were writing him!"

"I started to!" she defends herself. "I just...lost the paper. I didn't want him getting all worried! And I definitely didn't want him involved. If he heard about this, he'd come marching across Thedas, you know he would. I fight better knowing he's safe."

Varric gapes at her. "The man has glowing veins and rips people's _hearts_ out."

Hawke grins, feigning a dreamy look. "He does, doesn't he?" 

"Where does he think you _are _right now?" 

"Helping the Inquisitor."

_"Where,_ Hawke?"

She looks down, brushing off the wooden table she's leaning again. "Mm? May have...said I'd be in...Skyhold..." 

"Maker's _breath, _Hawke."

"Oh, come now, Varric. Just you and me! Once more, for old time's sake!" 

Varric stares at her for a long moment. “You’ve already done your part, Hawke,” he replies seriously.

“Aw, he’s worried about me.”

“Of course I am!” Varric exclaims, his humor gone. “We’ve seen what these people will do to _each other_! You’ve already done your job. Your story’s over.”

Hawke laughs. “Oh, Varric, 'n here I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Yeah,” he sighs heavily. “I do. Which is why I brought this.” He reaches down and pulls up a gold and silver, intricately designed dagger. An inscription is written along the blade, carved deep into the metal.

“You _found _it?!” Hawke gasps, snatching it happily. "I thought I'd lost it!"

Varric just sighs again, watching her tuck it reverently into her sheath.

“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you,” she murmurs, brushing its pommel affectionately.

“You can an uncomfortable relationship with that dagger.”

“I learned it from watching you.”

Varric smirks, nudging Hawke with his elbow. She nudges him back.

I smile and look down, moving past them to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen.

“Inquisitor,” the spymaster greets, turning to me. “As I was saying to Commander Cullen, Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight.”

“Fortunately for us,” Cullen says, “that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment. A good trebuchet would do for those ancient walls, and thanks to our lady ambassador…”

Josephine grins. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her sappers. They’ve already delivered the trebuchets. Once we got word of your intentions, we thought it might be prudent.”

_“That_ is the good news,” Leliana says.

“And now for my favorite part,” I mumble.

“Erimond called the ritual you saw a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.”

Cullen glances at her. “Inquisition forces can breach the gate. We have hundreds with us already and more on the way. But if the Wardens already have their demons…” He sighs, resting his hands on his sword pommel.

Leliana folds her hands behind her back. "I found records of Adamant’s construction. There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

“That’s good,” Cullen nods, looking at me. “We may not be able to defeat them outright, but if we can cut off reinforcements, we can carve you a path to Warden-Commander Clarel.”

I sigh heavily, leaning against the war table. “Is there no other way?" I wonder. "A way that would…limit loss of life?”

“Our soldiers know the risks, Inquisitor,” Josephine replies. “And they know what they’re fighting for.”

“It’ll be hard-fought,” Cullen admits. “No way around it. But we’ll get that gate open.”

“It’s also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.”

Leliana grimaces. “The warriors may be willing to listen to reason, though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly. The mages, however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.”

Cullen look at me. “Our forces are building the siege engines now, and we’re readying our forces, Inquisitor. Give the word, and we march on Adamant.”

“How far are the reinforcements?”

“A few hours at most. They sent word ahead.”

“Alright,” I murmur. “Give me some time to prepare.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” I nod formally, backing away.

Varric and Hawke are laughing quietly with each other, murmuring back and forth.

I walk through the busy camp, dodging soldiers as they move briskly around. There’s a hushed silence over the outpost, broken only by the clatter of armor and the quiet sounds of murmured questions.

I'm nearing the edge of camp when I see Solas and Cole talking quietly. I smile broadly; I wasn't aware he was coming. Solas is leaning against wooden table behind him, his arms and ankles crossed loosely. I shouldn't find it such a distracting stance, but I do. I force my thoughts elsewhere. 

“Cole,” I greet happily. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I want to help,” he murmurs. “You are worried.”

I laugh quietly. “Naturally. Battles _are _a little worrisome.”

“No. More. What do I do if he comes again? What if he controls me? Mythal—what if something happens to Solas? What will I—”

“Yep, that’s probably a good place to stop, Cole, thank you for that,” I mutter, blushing.

Solas smiles at me, rising. He takes my hand, his other fingers lifting to my cheek. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

My cheeks burn even more. “You’re just saying that because Cole—”

Solas silences me with a kiss, and I slowly relax, tightening my fingers against him. His thumb arcs over my cheek as he pulls back, and he presses his forehead to mine.

“Thank you for being here with me,” I breathe.

“My place is by your side, vhenan.”

I give another idiotic smile, my heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. I look up at Solas, and he moves back far enough to see me, his eyes affectionate. His thumb moves across my skin gently, and then he sits down again, pulling me with him. I sit beside him, sighing quietly as I cling to his hand. 

“Cole,” I say softly. “Do you know how the soldiers are feeling?”

“Scared,” he admits. “But hopeful. Proud. They are ready.”

I glance to the side. “Would you mind finding Cassandra and Blackwall? Tell them we’re getting ready to move—don’t just appear in front of them, though,” I say when he moves. “You know that startles them.”

“Oh, yes. I will not startle them.” Cole walks away deliberately slowly, and I grin as I watch him.

“Are you ready?” Solas murmurs.

“No,” I reply, standing. He rises with me.

I glance around at the others to see them all occupied, hurrying quickly to gather their necessary gear. I turn to Solas, searching his eyes. His expression is warm and tender, and my heart stutters again. I rise to my toes and press my lips to his. He smiles against the kiss, wrapping his arm around my waist. He brings me the rest of the way to him, holding me firmly. It steals my breath, and I kiss him quietly for a long, beautiful moment before I reluctantly pull back. I press my forehead to his, breathing quickly. My chest is tight, and I frown faintly. _Please, Mythal. Please keep him safe. _

“I’ll go tell Cullen we’re ready,” I mumble.

“Vhenan,” Solas murmurs softly, his arm still tight around my waist, bending me to him.

The word brings another blush to my cheeks. I smile and kiss him again. My fingers grow tight, and I continue to plead with Mythal, praying that she keep us all safe tonight. 

***

The sound of the trebuchets deafening; the roar of our soldiers is even louder. Flaming boulders slam into the walls of Adamant Fortress, taking countless with them when they catapult over the battlements or break through the stone. I force myself to remember this is necessary, but the loss of life is staggering.

My team and I wait on the far side of the battle with Cullen for the gates to be breached far ahead. Blackwall and Varric watch grimly, both of them with their arms crossed. Blackwall looks lost as he stares at the Wardens defending the keep ahead of us, though he does his best to hide it. Cassandra and Cullen talk over the sounds of battle, but their words don’t reach my ears, despite their close proximity. Cole stands on one side of me, staring ahead, dismayed. I imagine he must be hearing so much. I wish I could shield him from it. Solas is on my other side, watching gravely, though his expression reveals that this is not the first battle he’s witnessed.

Our soldiers march in unison towards the fortress, some with the honorary position of carrying our banner while others hold up long shields. They call to each other to keep formation, their battle chant keeping their rhythm. Ladders are hoisted up all the ground, and I watch with a clenched jaw as our men rise with them. Some are shot down with arrows before they can even reach the walls, their bodies falling the long way back down to the ground. My chest tightens, and I try to steel myself to the influx of emotions. We have a long night ahead of us; I can't afford to lose my strength before we've even truly begun. I breathe out a sigh of quiet relief when the ladders land and dozens of our men mount the walls, forcing the Grey Wardens back.

This feels so horribly wrong—perverse, even. The legendary heroes of old, champions against the Blight, are being slaughtered within their walls. Seeing the blue and grey flags—proud griffins in flight—makes it difficult to remember that it was Corypheus, not us, who began this war, that it was he who turned their duty into fear and twisted their sense of honor.

It doesn’t make it any easier to see our soldiers cut down fabled heroes in silver armor or to see winged helmets shining in the mud, trampled under the feet of our men as they march forward.

A conflicting sense of pride overtakes me as I watch how admirably and honorably our men fight. Cullen has trained them well. They fall into an easy rhythm, very few of our soldiers caught unawares. They appear firm and confident on the battlefield, their movements precise, their wills unbending. 

Several warriors escort our battering ram to the gates, their shields raised over the ones pushing the wooden machine. I watch anxiously as the Grey Wardens throw large rocks over the edge in a last-ditch effort to eliminate those who will soon break down their doors.

I realize I’m holding too tightly to Solas’ hand as I watch, but I don’t dare release it. His fingers wind around mine securely, tethering and calming me while we wait.

Cullen waits until the battering ram is in place before he waves us forward. “Alright, to the gates, everyone. Soldiers, to the Inquisitor!”

Solas pulls me ahead of him protectively under the canopy of shields, releasing my hand.

“Inquisitor,” Blackwall murmurs. “If you’re ready.”

I nod. He lifts his broad shield over our heads, and I walk close beside him. The others follow us, covered by the soldiers. We make our way quickly through the lines with Cullen leading us. We pass by the Chargers and Bull in the field, and I hear him shout several orders in a calm, experienced tone. In response, several of the Chargers break away from the main group, tailing after our convoy. As we reach the gates, the battering ram bursts through the doors. Our men lunge inside, making quick work of the Wardens trying to hold them. Blackwall gets me inside, and I follow Cullen, lifting my staff up off the ground.

As the others join us one at a time, I jolt into action. Grey Wardens lunge at us, trying to push us back through the gates, but Cullen is a seasoned warrior, and his men are undeniably skilled. My magic flits around the field easily; I'm careful to not give too much too fast, but I rain down lightning on our enemies, striking as precisely as I can. A warrior runs at me, and Cullen whips around to stop him, but I catch the Warden with the blade at the end of my staff, switching places with him smoothly. When he stumbles, I pull my dagger from my waist and jam it into the soft plating at his neck. Cullen looks so impressed that I'm mildly offended, and I frown at him as I sheath my dagger again. I swing my staff around swiftly, stopping an array of arrows in midair before they can find their targets. 

The doors at the back of the lower bailey burst open, and the mages make their appearance. Rage demons race ahead of them, moving to us with an alarming eagerness. Cullen calls his men forward, and I jerk to the side, picking a spot atop a dune where I can see the field well. I cast a protection spell over Cullen, using my staff to freeze demons before their claws can catch on our men. I lay a paralysis glyph at the base of the stairs for the reinforcements. Several fall into it, stilling so swiftly that they're caught mid-step. Inquisition swords make short work of the demons, the clash of steel against steel ringing shrilly in the air from the Wardens.

Solas and Varric move near me as Cassandra and Blackwall join Cullen in battle. Cole zips around the field, and I understand perfectly why he once thought himself as a ghost. I also see how much he restrains himself at Skyhold. He appears behind one soldier, catching a sword before it can land and in an instant moves across the field to take down a Warden near the doors of the bailey. In another blink, he's on top of the battlements, disarming archers before appearing at Cullen's side to kill a Warden who tries to flank the commander. 

“Get the mages!” someone shouts, and I’m not sure if it’s our side or theirs.

As second later, I get my answer. Wardens burst through the door beside me. I force a gust of wind through the bailey, knocking them off balance. One of them dodges out of the way. Before I can react or even properly register his intention, he lunges at me, tackling me around the middle. We tumble clumsily down the small dune, and I hit the stone ground hard, my elbow cracking against it painfully. I jerk my legs up as I hear both Varric and Solas shout for me. I twist to get out of the man’s pin, but his legs keep me down. He scrambles for his dagger, and I jerk my elbow up, breaking his nose. Blood sprays my neck as he cries out, and I hit him again as he goes to hold his nose. He jerks off me, rolling over. I rise to my knees, grab his dagger, and then hesitate—he's young, barely an adult. My hands shake, and he reaches up to grab my wrists, his own intent clearer than mine.

Before either of us can act, a soldier’s blade runs the Grey Warden through.

“Inquisitor!” the woman calls, lifting me to my feet. I nod at her gratefully, picking up my staff again, cursing myself.

“Are you hurt?” Solas asks, stopping beside me.

I look down at the young man below me and shake my head. I spin my staff, forcing myself to refocus. I breathe the words necessary for a large fireball, launching is across the field to a group of demons. Solas’ magic blends with mine, our mana mixing and reacting powerfully. The fireball explodes on impact, taking the rest of the demons with it. Our soldiers make short work of the Wardens, cutting them down swiftly. A lull in the fighting gives the rest of us time to breathe.

“Pull back!” a Warden on the wall shouts. “They’re through!”

Cullen comes up beside me breathlessly. “Alright, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.”

“I’ll be fine—just keep the men safe. Don’t take risks.”

“We’ll do what we must, Inquisitor. Warden Stroud will accompany you. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements. She’s assisting them until you arrive.”

“She went up there?” Varric demands. “Of course she did,” he adds irritably.

“Good luck, Inquisi—” Something catches Cullen’s eye. I follow his gaze to see a soldier pushed off the battlements by a shade demon. I lunge forward, catching the man with a quick spell and bringing him the rest of the way down slowly. “There’s too much resistance on the walls! Our men on the ladders won’t be able to get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we’ll cover your advance.”

“Got it—stay safe, Cullen.”

“You as well, Inquisitor.”

“With me!” I call, waving to my team.

I lead the way through the open door, running up the stairs to the second floor. A group of soldiers tries to stop us. I push them back, keeping them at bay while the others climb up the stairs after me. A man with a shield tries to push me back, but I spin out of the way, dodging his sword, swinging my staff around quickly. The blade at the end stabs through the weak padding at his side, and I push him away.

“Get her!” someone shouts. "The mage!"

I jerk back in time to dodge an arrow. A flicker in my vision tells me another is on its way. I throw my left hand up instinctively, and an explosion knocks me backwards to the ground. I look up sharply to see that I blew up a section of the battlements with a fireball. I glance at my hand, alarmed, and get to my feet in time to see Cassandra’s surprise.

“Uh—sorry!” I call. “That—wasn’t supposed to happen—”

“Well, be sure to have more accidents,” Varric replies. “You blew a hole through the door.”

I laugh hesitantly, charging forward again. I duck under the hole I make, working my way through quickly. I wait for the others and then run forward once more.

We work our way up the levels of the fortress, fighting and carving our path. By the time we reach the battlements, I’m already exhausted. I don’t know how these soldiers are fighting so fearlessly and tirelessly, but I feel it begin to press on me physically. The draw on my magic is worse. I should have accepted lyrium when it was offered, but I’ve never liked the way it felt. Solas refused it, too, though, so…

We come across a group of Wardens who resist the rituals, fighting against their mage companions. We manage to convince them, to my relief, to stand down and fall back.

Varric runs up beside me before we get moving again. “Hawke!” he calls, pointing.

I look up sharply to see her on a platform near the top of the battlements. She’s fighting with our soldiers, her daggers moving so fast I can barely see them. I run forward quickly, rushing to her side.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d show up!” she calls over the battle. “Here to take all the glory, I presume?”

“You can’t _always _be the hero, Hawke,” Varric replies loudly. “It’s bad writing.” 

“Well fine—then give me a hand already, would you?”

I breathe a fireball to life, aiming it at a group of shades. They go up in flames, dissipating quickly. We clear the path of Wardens and demons. Our men move to the ladders, bringing their fellows soldiers up swiftly as we fight.

I’m feeling pretty confident about things until I feel the ground shake beneath our feet, knocking me off balance.

“Well shit,” Hawke sighs, glancing behind me.

I whip around, sagging a little just _looking _at the massive pride demon. It stands taller than anything, stomping and hitting the ground hard enough to create cracks along the stone.

“Can’t ever go smoothly, can it?” Hawke complains.

“That’s been my experience,” Varric mumbles.

“Just _once _I’d like to have it go smoothly, you know, just to see what it’s like.”

“I think it’d be boring,” Varric muses.

“Mm, good point.”

“Will you two—stop talking and fight?” Blackwall huffs, raising his shield to catch a volley of arrows.

I aim a fireball at the ones who fired them.

“Oh right,” Hawke laughs, jogging forward.

“Are we supposed to believe she actually forgot?” Blackwall wonders.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Varric replies before joining her. Cassandra and Blackwall run after them, and Cole continues to zip around.

I chuckle, despite myself, at Varric and Hawke and aim a fireball at the pride demon. As soon as it lands, I follow it up with several ice daggers, lodging them deep into the demon’s flesh. It roars in response, kicking Blackwall away. Cassandra catches him before he can teeter off the edge of the battlements, and the demon charges for me.

My eyes widen. “Oh shit,” I murmur, throwing down a paralysis glyph. “Oh shit.” The demon stomps through it like it wasn’t there. “Oh shit.” I raise a blockade of ice that it runs through without even the slightest hint of resistance. “Oh shit.” It bursts through my wall of fire, ignoring the burns it receives in return. “Oh shit.” I throw up a barrier, holding it with both hands when the demon bangs its fist down. I wince in preparation for that to fail, too, and then wrench my eyes open to see the demon hit the glimmering wall. “Ha! Oh sh—” The demon reaches around the barrier, grabbing my staff. Its claws rake down my arm, slicing through my skin, and I cry out in surprise, jerking my hand back—too late. It grabs my arm and throws me aside. Before I can fly off the edge, something stops me. I glance back to see Cole suddenly behind me, catching me. “Whoa, thanks! Perfect timing!”

Cole steadies me, and then disappears again. I heal my arm swiftly, murmuring quickly as I prepare for another attack by the demon. I glance to the left to see Solas surrounded by four warriors. He spins his staff quickly, knocking one of them down. Panic flits through me, but then I watch in awe as, before I can even interject, he drops to the ground, slamming his staff against their feet. They topple over, and he lifts his hand to his temple. In an instant, the men get launched back from him in all directions from a powerful blast. I grin crookedly, impressed.

The demon charges for me, rudely interrupting my ogling. I go to place another barrier, but before I can mutter the words, Cole is there between the demon and me. He kicks off the wall and lands on the demon’s chest, digging his daggers in deep. He climbs swiftly, using his blades for balance, and them moves around the demon’s shoulders like a spider until he has enough leverage to drive a dagger through the demon’s head. The beast falls to the ground with a roar, and Cole flips down, landing before me in a hunch.

“Cole,” I call.

“Yes?” he says, not even remotely out of breath.

“That—was the coolest thing—I’ve _ever _seen!”

Cole grins happily at me before disappearing. I see him reappear on the other side of the battlements, clearing a path for several wounded soldiers.

Something hits me across the back, and I land hard on the ground, scraping my arm on the stone as the Warden pins me down.

“Will you people stop _tackling_ me?” I scream in anger, jerking my elbow up.

The man dodges my attack easily and forces me to roll over. His dagger presses to my throat, cold steel biting into my neck below my jaw. I jerk in shock, raising my left hand without thinking. The man flies off me, launched fifty feet up into the air before arcing and falling over the side of the battlements. I raise my hand to my neck in a panic, murmuring words quickly to seal the cut on my throat. I get to my feet swiftly, looking around for someone _else_ who wants to use the same fucking move on me.

Blackwall and Cassandra cut down the last of the men. Solas and Varric jog over to me, followed by Hawke and Stroud. Cole appears beside me, flicking his blades clean as best he can.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” Solas asks breathlessly, reaching for me when he see my arms covered in blood.

“I swear to Mythal, if another asshole tackles me, I’m going to blow them up,” I gasp.

Solas grins, relieved.

I lean against the wall for a moment to catch my breath. “Are you alright?” I ask Blackwall as he arrives.

“I’m fine,” he replies, lifting a hand to wipe a thick trail of blood from his temple.

“Here, let me—”

“It’s alright, my lady. Save your strength.”

“Roll call, everyone okay? Cassandra?”

“I’m fine.”

"Stroud?"

"Fine, Your Worship."

“Varric?”

“Still alive.”

“Hawke?”

“What Varric said.”

I smirk. “Cole?”

“I am unhurt.”

“Good. Solas?”

“I’m alright, vhenan.”

“Excellent. Well. Let’s not keep those Wardens waiting, shall we?”

“It’d be rude,” Hawke agrees.

“Shit,” Varric sighs. “Think I see another demon calling our name.” I follow his gaze to a second pride demon in time to see him unfurl a long whip of electricity.

“Warden-Commander Clarel will be on the other side of the battlements,” Stroud says, gesturing in the other direction.

“Let’s take care of the demon first so our men can get up the ladders,” I say quickly, heading that direction. “Clarel can wait."

Varric smirks. “Yeah, she strikes me as the sensible, patient type.”

“I was gonna say that,” Hawke sighs.

“Get your own lines.”

I lift my staff and breathlessly run across the ramparts to the other pride demon. It raises its hands over its head, and my eyes widen when I see our soldiers under them. Instinctively, they raise their hands to protect themselves. I throw up a quick shield, grunting as I maintain it. Solas joins me, his magic blending with mine to reinforce the barrier and protect them. The demon’s hands slam down against the shimmering wall, and the agents look back in shock, finding the others as they run forward and pull the men out of harm’s way. 

The demon raises its hand again, and an orb of electricity forms in its palm. It tests the orb's weight before moving its hand back to throw it. I barely have time to register where its aimed when Solas pulls me under him, raising a thick stone wall between us and the demon. I gasp in surprise, watching the purple streaks lick across the edges of the wall.

“Thank you,” I say quickly, grabbing my staff again. I stand and aim a fireball at the demon. It blinds it temporarily, giving Cassandra a chance to slice at the back of its leg. The demon roars, falling to one knee with a rumbling shake. Solas combines an offensive attack with a protection spell, hurting the demon while offering our men more energy to continue. Blackwall lunges his sword into the demon’s stomach, and Cole runs up its arm to stab it in the head. The demon falls heavily, and I breathe out in a rush.

Blackwall stoops over to grab his shield, and Cassandra, ever the badass, moves beside me, breathless but somehow appearing unaffected otherwise. Guess this is the benefit of stabbing dummies all day long.

“Thank you, Inquisitor!” the soldiers call.

“Get to safety!”

“We’ll hold the wall!”

I grin proudly and nod.

“Clarel’s turn, is it?” Hawke muses.

“Rude to keep a lady waiting,” Varric replies.

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

Varric replies with a loud laugh.

“We must hurry,” Solas advises. “Our forces cannot stand against the demons for long.”

I nod and run along the battlements, my breaths busting from me. We take the stairs down from the battlements to an inner room. I slam into a door, expecting it to break. It rejects me harshly, and I groan, holding my shoulder.

“Shit! That’s—_that _is a strong door.”

“Allow me,” Blackwall chuckles.

“Allow _me_,” Cassandra corrects, pushing him aside. I watch, grinning as she kicks the door down in one swift motion.

“I could’a done that,” Blackwall huffs.

“You can get the next one,” she shrugs.

I take off running again, my lungs aching. Blackwall kicks another door down, and then we’re outside once more. I skid around the corner, gasping for air. I jerk my hand toward the battlement edge when we reach another group of Wardens, and they go flying over the side.

“Nice!” Hawke commends. “You’re on a roll!”

I gasp a laugh and keep running. We reach another door, and I burst through it. My eyes widen at the large gathering of men, and Hawke pulls me aside, kneeling down swiftly so we can see what’s happening.

I force my breaths to soften so I don't reveal our presence. Dozens of Wardens are gathered before a wooden platform, all facing away from us. Standing above them, Erimond waits beside an older man and woman, both Wardens. The woman holds a staff in her left hand, but the man beside her is unarmed, his head bowed respectfully. 

“Warden-Commander Clarel, I take it?” I whisper breathlessly.

“The one and only,” Hawke replies.

“Wardens!” Clarel calls. “We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect.”

“The Inquisition is _inside,_ Clarel,” Erimond complains. “We have no time to stand on ceremony!”

Clarel glares at Erimond. “These men and women are giving their _lives_, magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty.” The Warden-Commander turns to the man at her side. “It has been many long years, my friend.”

“Too many, Clarel,” the old man agrees, kneeling down before her. “If my sword arm can no longer serve the Wardens, then my blood will have to do.”

Clarel pulls a dagger from her belt and moves behind the man. “It will,” she promises solemnly.

I jerk to intervene, but Hawke holds me in place tightly. Clarel closes her eyes and drags the knife across her supposed friend’s throat. A green glint catches my eye, and I look away from them to see a faded rift hovering in the middle of the Wardens. At first I think they're unaware of it until I realize they're circled around it, and my eyes widen when I understand their intent. The seam glows brightly, seconds away from tearing open. This one is so massive that I fear what it might be capable of bringing through.

I glare and stand up, pulling away from Hawke. The others join me, and we run forward a few steps, stopping behind the Wardens.

“Stop them!” Erimond shouts suddenly, pointing to us. “We must complete the ritual!”

The Wardens turn to face us, the seam growing impossibly larger.

“Clarel!” I shout, holding up my hands. “How could you do this? This is _exactly _the kind of thing the Wardens are meant to _stop_! If you complete that ritual, you help Erimond—”

“What?” he interrupts loudly. “Fight the Blight? Keep the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that?”

Clarel looks at me uncertainly—a flicker of doubt.

“The Wardens are meant to be _defenders_! I _idolized _you as a kid!” I shout. “But this—_blood magic rituals_? How could you think _this _was the answer?”

Erimond waves his hand. “The Grey Wardens are doing their duty!”

Clarel steps forward. _“We_ make the sacrifices no one else will! Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them.”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!” Stroud exclaims.

“Corypheus?” Clarel gasps. “But—he’s dead.”

“Clarel,” Erimond implores. “These people will say anything to shake your confidence.”

She raises a hand to her eyes, uncertainty clouding her expression. For a second—just a second—I think she might still do the right thing. Then her expression clears, and her eyes open. “Bring it through!”

“No!” I shout.

The Wardens turn to the rift, spreading their arms and offering themselves to their mage allies. The rift shudders and flickers, growing larger as the mages raise their blades.

“Please!” Hawke exclaims, her voice desperate enough to make the mages hesitate. “I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is _never _worth the cost!”

The rift expands, and I see something through the green, hazy veil, something massive and terrifying. I blink, my spine chilling as I part my lips in horror.

“Be ready with the ritual, Clarel,” Erimond says. “This demon is truly worthy of your strength.”

“Blackwall, please!” I call. “Maybe you can talk some sense into them!”

Blackwall looks at me, startled, before he directs his attention to the Wardens. “You...you don’t know me, but you may have heard my name. Like you, I’ve given my life to the Grey Wardens. The first time I put on this armor, I felt like I belonged, like I was part of something honorable, something with a purpose. I _know _how good that feels. How _safe._ But fighting and dying here today won’t stop the Blight! If you want to stop the Blight, kill that bastard up there. His master is the living embodiment of its corruption!”

“We have no quarrel with the Wardens,” I add. “We’ve spared those we could on our way here. I don’t want to kill you! You’re—you're the _Grey Wardens_! You’re meant to serve and protect and shield! Look at what that man has done to you! He's made you kill your brothers, your sisters! He’s twisted your purposes, bound your dead to Corypheus! You’re being _used_! Can’t you see that? You _must _feel that something here is not right! You _know _this is _wrong_!”

One of the Wardens steps forward hesitantly. “The mages who’ve done the ritual…they’re not right. They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string.”

“Corypheus’ string,” I reply.

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Clarel calls, her tone warning.

“He’s not afraid!” Hawke shouts angrily. “_You _are! You’re afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing!”

Stroud steps forward imploringly. “I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters, but this is not the way! You have been tricked!”

The Wardens falter, looking back at Erimond. Even Clarel looks shaken now.

“Clarel,” Erimond says, his tone low. “We’ve come so _far._ You’re the only one who can do this!”

“Perhaps…perhaps we could test the truth of these charges,” Clarel suggests, “to avoid more bloodshed.”

Erimond’s entire demeanor changes. He drops his act, his expression hardening. “Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally.” He turns to me, tapping his staff against the stone with an electric ring. Red energy flickers off the end of it. “My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

Fear clutches my heart, and I ready myself for the searing pain.

I’m so focused on my hand that the following thunderous roar startles me badly. I look up sharply, dread filling me at the Archdemon that soars overhead. Blackwall’s arm whips around my waist, jerking me back. In one swift movement, he tucks me securely against his chest, bending over me to raise his shield. A ball of fiery red energy falls down over us. Red electricity fries the ground beneath my feet, slamming powerfully against Blackwall’s shield as he holds strong. I pant against Blackwall, gripping his arm tightly. He waits a moment for the heat to die down and then stands and releases me.

I stare up to see the Archdemon circle the fortress, screeching again. Clarel stares at Erimond, backing away in horror. The dragon swoops overhead, landing against the walls high above. Stones crash to the ground as it roars deafeningly.

Clarel grunts, and I look back to see her swing her staff sharply. Erimond gets pushes back from the force of her magic, hitting ground so hard he rolls several times. The dragon looks at Clarel when Erimond drops his staff, seizing on the ground from her electric blow.

“Clarel,” Erimond cries when she eyes the dragon, creating another ball of electricity. “Wait…”

She launches her magic at the dragon, and it roars in anger. A red energy fireball lands near her feet, but she easily dodges. Erimond rolls clumsily to avoid it, scrambling to his feet ungracefully. The dragon rears its head back with another roar, finding a new target in Clarel. Erimond runs away, up the stairs and through a door.

“Held the Inquisitor!” Clarel orders, chasing after Erimond.

Demons burst through the rift. I can still see that thing in the distance, hiding and waiting in the Fade—a monstrosity, from what little I can make out.

The Wardens turn on the demons, and relief washes over me. Another pride demon comes through, flanked by terror, rage, and despair demons. Adrenaline races through me, making everything sharp and clear.

“Go after Clarel! We’ll hold them off!” a Warden shouts.

I nod at that, grip my staff, and run around the fighting, the others close behind me.

I hear the dragon’s wings as we run, and it terrifies me that, at any moment, it could sweep down and take any of us with it. I keep close to the wall, taking the stairs quickly, following the only path Erimond and Clarel could have taken. I see a flicker of her Grey Warden robes as we round corners at the same time.

We move under an archway, tearing down a long hall.

“Suledin, stop!” Solas shouts urgently.

At the same time, Cassandra grabs my arm, pulling me to a jolting stop. A split second later, the dragon hits the side of the fortress, moving its massive head through the stone columns. It breathes fire coated in red energy, causing a harsh wave of heat to wash over us.

Blackwall charges forward and slams his shield against its jaw. The dragon rears back, roaring and pushing roughly off the fortress.

“Shit,” I gasp, moving forward once again. “Nice work!”

We make it to several flights of stairs, and I slow, my thighs cramping and shaking uncomfortably.

“How many—gods-damned stairs—does this place—have?” I gasp, holding my stitching ribs.

“More than—I’ve ever climbed—in my life,” Hawke replies. “This is—ridiculous.”

“Glad it’snot—just me.”

“Definitely not—Snow,” Varric chips in.

“Fen’Harel,” I gasp. “This is—going to kill me. Is everyone—still alive?”

I receive a handful of panting gasps in affirmation as we reach the top level.

We round the corner and come to a jarring stop when we see Clarel and Erimond on a broken bridge.

He launches a fireball at her as she storms over angrily. She blocks the fireball without even moving her staff, rage fueling her mana powerfully.

“You!” she seethes. “You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!” She knocks Erimond off his feet, and he loses his staff.

He laughs weakly, holding up a hand. “You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch.” He tries to stand, and Clarel knocks him down again. “All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn’t _wait _to get your hands bloody!”

Clarel roars, a powerful force pushing Erimond back violently. He slides across the stone, curling in on himself as his clothes smoke from the friction.

“You could have served a new god!” he groans.

“I will _never _serve the Blight.”

A flicker of movement catches my eye.

“Get down!” I scream—too late.

The dragon lands on the bridge, bloodily grabs Clarel, and takes off again. I watch in horror as the dragon flies to the walls of the fortress high above us, Clarel’s legs kicking wildly from its teeth. The Archdemon jerks its head back and forth before releasing Clarel. She soars over us, landing and sliding in a bloody, mangled heap on the bridge. The dragon moves down off the wall like a prowling jungle cat, its focus on me once more. We all back up onto the bridge, cut off from any other path. Clarel crawls towards us, and I step forward to help her. The Archdemon roars, and I jerk back again.

“In war, victory,” Clarel recites, her words thick and weak.

The dragon moves closer to her, walking over her body. She rolls onto her back, staring up at the beast’s belly as it stalks towards us.

“In peace...vigilance.”

The dragon rears back, preparing to launch itself at us. Solas grabs my hand, pulling me to him swiftly. His arms close around me, and we brace for the dragon's breath. I watch as Clarel raises her hand, frowning briefly before I understand. My eyes widen, but I don't have time to react before a ball of lightning explodes under the dragon’s belly. It screeches and falls on top of her, sliding across the stone bridge powerfully. Solas tightens his hold on me, pushing me out of harm's way. Everyone dives for separate sides of the bridge, escaping flailing claws as the dragon roars and slides away. It reaches the edge of the bridge and, in a blink, slips off.

I scramble backwards as the bridge collapses from the explosion. Solas grabs my arm, hoisting me to my feet. I push him ahead of me, checking the others to see Cassandra and Blackwall pull Hawke and Varric up, and then we're running as the bridge cracks and breaks apart beneath our feet.

I glance back to see Stroud get caught in the collapse. I stop and run back to him, but Cole appears ahead of me. He picks Stroud up, and they run past us. Cole grips my hand, pulling me after him as Solas shouts my name. He reaches for me, but before he can grab me, the bridge gives way under my feet. I scream involuntarily, gravity pulling me down so fast that the air gets trapped in my throat, cutting my scream short. I see everyone fall from the bridge with me, and grief-stricken terror rushes through me when I see Solas among them. I turn in midair and hold my left arm out instinctively to shield myself from the impact. Wind roars past my ears deafeningly, and I stare into the abyss as we plummet into it, blackness surrounding us. Panic seizes me, and I shut my eyes tight, thrusting my left hand out more. In an instant, brilliant green light blinds me, and I fall through it.


	32. In Peace, Vigilance

After plunging headfirst into an seemingly endless canyon, I can safely say that I _fully_ expected to hit the ground—hard.

What I did _not_ anticipate was that I would get yanked back up the way I came and then dangle in midair. For a long, breathless second, I hesitate with my eyes squeezed shut, convinced that this may, in fact, be the Beyond. Instead, I open my eyes to find myself upside down, the ground hovering above me—or, below me, as the case may be. Disorientation makes me dizzy, and I frown at the ground—the same ground I should be broken against. I reach my hand out, my breath caught in my lungs. The instant my fingers press against cool stone, I drop into it face-first. Not my most graceful of entrances, to be sure.

I grunt, searching quickly for broken bones or severed limbs only to find myself intact. I frown in confusion, rising slowly to my feet.

“Where _are_ we?” someone breathes. 

I look up, turning my head in confusion when I see Stroud parallel to the ground, standing perfectly balanced on the side of a stone wall. He looks up at me, equally confused. Suddenly, I’m not sure which of us is wrong.

“Uh—pretty sure we were just falling to our deaths,” Hawke mumbles. "Weren't we?"

Stroud and I look up to see her standing upside down, fixed to the underside of a cliff. I angle my head, trying to pick one that works for seeing her.

Hawke frowns at us. “Is this—are we dead? If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“No,” Solas murmurs, his voice awed. Relief rushes through me blindingly, and I whip around to see him stop beside me, unharmed. In fact, they're all okay. Cassandra is gaping wide-eyed all around, her hand resting on her sword handle. Blackwall is beside her, frowning unhappily as he takes his helmet off. Cole's back is to me, his head tilted up the way we presumably came. Varric is staring up at Hawke, his head cocked a little as she shrugs and sighs. Solas stares ahead in open amazement, his eyes bright. “This is the Fade,” he whispers.

I blink, following his gaze to a floating, silhouetted island in the sky—_the Black City._ Holy— “What?” I gasp, shocked.

“You opened a rift,” he explains in wonder, looking up at the green sky above us. “We came through…and survived! I never thought I would ever find myself here physically.”

“Huh,” I breathe. “Don’t...say I never take you anywhere?”

A wide smile breaks across his face, and he glances at me. “Look,” he whispers, pointing ahead of us. “The Black City. Almost close enough to touch.”

“This is incredible...and..._impossible_,” I gasp, looking around.

“What spirit commands this place?” Solas wonders thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen anywhere like it.”

“Not how I remember the Fade, either,” Hawke muses. “Where are all the talking horses? The naked women? Where’s the upside statue of me and the parading ants?”

“Maker’s _breath_, Hawke—what—what kind of dreams are you _having_?” Varric laughs.

Cole stands before me, wringing his hands, shifting his weight anxiously. “No. No, no, no, no, no, _no, no_! This is the Fade! B-b-but I-I’m stuck! I can’t—why can’t I—!”

“Cole,” Solas says soothingly. “It’s alright. It’s alright, you—”

“I-I-I c-can’t be here! N-n-not like this! N-n-not like _me_!”

“Cole,” I say, catching his hands. His fingers tremble violently in mine. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“It is, Cole,” Solas agrees. “We’ll _make _it right. You’re safe with us, Cole. Nothing here can hurt you.”

“This place is wrong!” Cole exclaims. “I-I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like _this_!”

“Cole, listen to me,” I murmur, moving my hands to his shoulders. He doesn’t resist, peeking up at me. “Cole, we’re going to be okay. I _promise _you, alright? Do you hear me? We’re going to be okay.”

“Why—why is it wrong—w-why is it—I c-can’t—”

“We’re here physically,” I remind him. “This is no one’s dream. It’s just—raw…Fade.”

“Yes,” Solas nods. “That may be it. There is no one to shape it, no dreams or emotions to mold it.”

“The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven,” Hawke says. “Was it like this?”

“I—don’t know,” I admit, looking around. “I still can’t remember what happened.”

“Well…I guess what happens in the Fade stays in the Fade. Guess we should _also _be on the lookout for demons intent on ripping us apart. Precautionary, of course.”

“In our world,” Stroud adds, “the rift the demons came through was nearby. In the main hall. Can we escape the same way?”

I shrug. “Beats waiting around for demons to find us, right? There,” I murmur, pointing. In the sky, far away and atop a rickety, uphill path is a circular sun of green energy—perhaps the inside-out version of a tear in the Veil. “That must be the rift. Let’s go.”

“How, uh, do we get down?” Hawke wonders. “Got any pointers, Fade experts?”

“If it were your dream, you could simply think yourself down,” Solas muses.

“Uh—maybe…jump?” Varric says.

“Jump?” Hawke repeats drily.

“I’ll catch you.”

“_You’ll _catch me?”

“Yeah, sure. What's the worst that can happen?”

“You see, you _say _that, but—”

“Just _jump_.”

Hawke sighs and hunches down. She kicks off the cliffside and comes plummeting down. Before Varric can even raise his arms, she crashes into him, and they both fall to the ground in a heap.

“You’ll catch me, huh?”

“I did. With my body. Ow.”

She sighs heavily and gets up, pulling Varric to his feet. “And they say chivalry is dead—wait, how’d _you _get down?” Hawke suddenly asks.

I turn to see Stroud standing behind us. “I just walked.”

Hawke squints. “Probably...should've tried that first.”

“Is everyone ready?” he wonders. 

“Well I am _now_.”

Our first few steps are hesitant. I stay close to Solas; he looks around in wonder while I watch for demons. But I can't deny this is a marvel. _No one _just _strolls_ through the Fade physically. As we go, I find myself less focused on guarding us and more intent on admiring our dismal surroundings. Despite the bleak scenery, I can't help but find it beautiful, in a creepy, desolate sort of way. _Raw Fade_. This is unbelievable. 

Not everyone is as...tolerant of our predicament. Cole wrings his hands, and Cassandra grimaces almost angrily. 

“This is very odd,” she murmurs.

“You said it,” Blackwall mumbles.

“Is this really what it’s like when you dream?” Varric mutters. “How do you people ever sleep?”

“Like I said,” Hawke replies, “there are usually more talking horses.”

“Hey, remember the last time we ended up in the Fade?”

“How could I forget?” Hawke answers sardonically. “My closest friends showed such _loyalty_ in the face of a demon’s temptations.”

Varric winces. “Yeah…probably…shouldn’t have brought that up again.”

“This is fascinating,” Solas muses to me, admiring the world around us. It makes me smile, despite our potentially dangerous circumstances, to see him so enthused. “It is not the area I would have chosen, of course, but to physically walk within the Fade…” He sighs softly, and I smile wider, turning my head to hide it.

“Right,” Varric mutters. “You like it here. Of course you do. Isn’t that wonderful.”

“Yes,” Solas chuckles, lighter than usual. “Literally.”

“Solas,” I murmur softly as we go. “You’re the expert—any tips?”

He nods. “The Fade is shaped by intent and emotion. Remain focused, and it will lead you where you wish to go. The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful—some variety of fear, I would guess. I suggest we remain wary of its manipulations and prepare for what is certain to be a _fascinating _experience.”

I smirk at him affectionately.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Cole whispers, pulling me from my thoughts. “Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can’t relax. Can’t release—”

“You doin’ alright, kid?” Varric asks sympathetically.

“It’s okay, Cole,” I murmur. “We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Thank you,” Cole whimpers. “It should be like home. It’s not. This isn’t me, not this part.”

“This place is dangerous,” Blackwall mutters. “I will gladly fight demons, but I have no desire to see where they come from.”

“Imagine it,” Cassandra says softly, her demeanor changing when we don't immediately die. “To walk in the Fade and survive!”

“Haven’t survived _yet_, Seeker,” Varric mumbles.

“There’s that optimism I adore so much,” Hawke sighs fondly.

We reach a flight of stairs and walk up them slowly. When I reach the top, I look up and freeze in my tracks. A woman is standing ahead of us, her pale skin wrinkled and freckled. Her gaze finds mine, and she gives me a warm smile that crinkles her grey eyes. Her white and red robes are immaculate, despite the damp, dirty surroundings. The gold sunburst emblem shines in the pale green light. Her wrinkled fingers are clasped before her, and her tall cowl is utterly unique. Even I know that there is only one woman in the Chantry permitted such attire. 

I gape at her, recognition staggering me. The word _impossible _bounces around my mind. “Holy—”

“By the Maker,” Stroud breathes. “Could that be…”

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” the woman murmurs. 

“Divine…Justinia?” Cassandra breathes, stepping forward shakily. “Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” the woman smiles fondly.

“Is this—really her?” I whisper.

“I…” Cassandra stares in shock. “I don’t know…It…is said that the…souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but…We know spirits lie…Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“I fear the Divine is indeed dead,” Stroud murmurs. “It is likely we face a spirit…or a demon.”

I look at Solas, but before I can ask, the Divine speaks. “You think my survival impossible,” she muses, “yet here you stand, alive, in the Fade yourselves.”

“That’s…a fair point,” I muse.

“In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Really?” Hawke hums. “How hard is it to answer one little question. _I’m _a human, and _you _are…”

“I am here to help you.”

“Well played.”

The Divine turns to me. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“No,” I agree. “I don’t.”

“The memories you have lost were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

Stroud glares ahead. “I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren.”

“You will have your chance, brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair.”

“Wait…wait…” I look up at the Divine. “You’re saying the big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nearby?”

“Yes.”

“In this area?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Shit.”

“When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

“How?”

Divine Justinia waves her arm over the ground. Green orbs appear scattered around us in a half-circle. “These are your memories, Inquisitor,” she murmurs. “They were taken from you, but I have retrieved them. These objects hold the truth of what happened. All you have to do is touch them with the Anchor.”

I frown. “It’s that simple?”

She offers an amused smile. “It was not simple for me.”

“Oh…sorry. Is it…uh…safe?”

“They are your memories,” she replies with a shrug. “They cannot hurt. They can only enlighten.”

“How do you know about the Anchor?” I ask, realizing she shouldn't know its name.

“Recover your memories,” she answers softly.

“Alright,” I sigh. I step forward once, trusting that Solas would stop me if it was dangerous. I pull my glove off and flex my fingers, hesitating a moment before I extend my hand. I reach for the green orb, feeling it pull at the magic of the mark.

_“What’s going on here?”_

I blink in shock, startling slightly at the sound of my own voice in my head. 

“Wait—did—did you just say that?” Varric asks.

“No, you heard it, too?”

“It is a piece of your memory,” the Divine explains.

“Why can we all hear it?” 

“Because we are in the Fade.”

“Sure,” Varric mutters. “That clears it right up.”

I step to the next one, pressing my fingers to it gently. A second voice cries out, the woman's tone high and scared but recognizable. 

_“Why are you doing this? You, of all people?”_

“Divine Justinia,” Cassandra breathes, moving her hand unconsciously to her stomach. “The real Divine.”

“Are you alright, Cassandra?” I murmur.

“Of course I am.”

“I know she—”

“I’m alright, Inquisitor," she says softly. "Continue.”

I reach for the last orb and suddenly my head pounds with a migraine. I gasp, pressing my hand to my temple. Beside me, I see the others do the same. 

A fragment flits through my mind, a few forgotten moments rushing back to me staggeringly.

_I walk down the hall, searching for the cry I heard. I move quickly, wishing I had my staff with me. _

_ “Why are you doing this?” the voice from before exclaims. “You, of all people?”_

_ She sounds terrified. I speed up, jogging down the hall to the doors at the end._

_ “Someone, help me!” the woman screams. _

_ I burst through the doors, stopping as I try to understand what I’m seeing. A woman—the Divine—is being held up by some form of red energy. It swirls around her arms and legs, keeping her suspended in midair. Grey Wardens stand around here, another wave of horror washing over me. How is that—what are they doing to her?_

_ A figure, tall and dark and terrifying, stands before the Divine, his fingers outstretched. In his clawed hand, an orb sits, magical green energy spewing around it as he holds it to the Divine’s chest. She cries out, red energy pulled from her as she struggles. Gold light fills the room, and I raise my hand to block it. _

_ “What’s going on here?” I demand, fear gripping me. "Let her go!" _

_ The shadowed figure turns to me, and I recoil in horror. A darkspawn—I’ve never seen one—his chest—his eyes—_

_ The Divine jerks one of her arms free, hitting the creature’s hand. The orb goes flying. It clatters to the ground and rolls towards me loudly. Instinctively, I reach down to catch it with my left hand. The darkspawn's eyes flare, and he growls, lunging at me. I hold the orb up, pain lancing up through my hand and arm like fire. The orb glows, green and brilliant, until it becomes blinding. I scream, falling to my knees, and—_

The migraine disappears as quickly as it started, and I gasp, staring at the ground as I process. 

“Wait—” I pant.

“What _was _that?” Varric demands. “How did we all see that—or…_remember _that? What is _happening_?”

“You saw it, too?” I breathe. 

“Yeah—like—like I was there. Judging from the looks on everyone’s faces, I’m not the only one.”

I look at Solas, confused and scared. His eyes are wide as he stares at me, his expression shocked. “You—how did you—you touched the orb,” he whispers.

“So your mark did not come from Andraste,” Stroud says, straightening. “It came from that…thing.”

The Divine nods. “Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead.”

“Wait,” I whisper, a new horror making me sick. I step back from the Divine, holding my hand up. “Wait, wait, wait…” I look at Solas, at Cassandra, at Varric with wide eyes. “Did—” My eyes flood. “Did…did _I _blow up the Temple of Sacred Ashes? Did—did I…did I _kill _all those—” I raise my hand to my mouth, horror making me weak. My stomach rolls, and I gasp, bending slightly. _Mythal, no—gods, no, please, no._

“No, vhenan,” Solas says quickly, stepping towards me. “It was Corypheus who activated the orb.”

“But I grabbed it!” I shriek. “I—you saw how the vision ended—the light was _blinding_, and—Justinia, spirit—whatever you are—did I kill those people?”

“You cannot escape the lair of the demon until you regain all that it took from you.”

“Answer me!”

“You will find your answers within your own memories.”

“_Please_—”

“You must progress. I cannot answer that which you must find on your own. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.” The Divine looks at us and then disappears.

“No!” I exclaim. “Wait!”

“You did not do this, vhenan,” Solas says quietly.

I raise my hands to my eyes, wiping them quickly before I turn back to the others. I press a hand to my stomach, breathing quickly. Hawke stares straight ahead, her expression disturbed.

“Something troubles you, Hawke?” Stroud asks.

“Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision,” she replies coldly. “Their actions led to her death, to the explosion, to the—”

“I assumed he had taken their minds, as you have seen him do before,” Stroud says quickly. “Come. We can argue after we escape this dark place.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

I look down at the ground, walking forward again.

“I’ve never met the Divine,” Varric murmurs. “You think that was really her?”

“I don’t know,” Cassandra whispers hoarsely.

“We have survived in the Fade physically,” Solas says quietly. “Perhaps she did as well.”

“For this long, though?” Varric wonders.

“Or,” Solas continues, “if it is a spirit that identifies so strongly with Justinia that it believes it _is _her, how can we say it is not?”

“She seems interested in helping us,” Stroud mutters. “That much is clear.”

“That’s all wonderful and all,” Hawke mumbles, “but it’s the Nightmare that actually has the brunt of my attention at the moment, not the friendly ghost thing.”

“Sounds like it preys on fear,” Varric says. “Stealing people’s memories. That’s low, even for a demon.”

“Fear is a very old, very strong feeling,” Solas murmurs. “It predates love, pride, compassion…every emotion save perhaps desire. Be wary. The Nightmare will do anything in its power to weaken our resolve.” Solas walks closer to me, directing his next words to me alone. “Vhenan, this is fear taking hold of you. Do not let it win.”

“What if I caused this?” I whisper.

“You didn’t, vhenan. This is the Nightmare.”

“The memory was real.”

“It was neither your decisions nor actions that led to the events at the Temple. You tried to help. Nothing that happened after is your fault.”

Varric sighs. “This Nightmare is gonna be a real ass, isn’t it?”

“After what it did to my fellow Wardens,” Stroud mutters, “I pray we find some way to strike it down.”

Hawke gasps. “Shit. What—what is _that_—”

I look up sharply, recoiling back several steps into Cassandra. My eyes widen, and I reel back again. Enormous spiders crawl across the stone towards us, their legs tapping against the ground. They screech loudly, shaking me more.

“Snow?” Varric says. “Hawke? What’s wrong?”

“Nope,” Hawke replies, backing up. “Nope—nope—nope—”

Varric grabs her arm, stopping her. “I don’t see anything—what do you see?”

“Spiders—giant, _giant _spiders—”

“It is fear,” Solas says briskly, coming to stand before me. I look over his shoulder, shrinking as they climb the walls around us. “Focus on something else. It is feeding on you. Hawke, Suledin, you _must_ focus your attention elsewhere.”

“Hawke—hey, Hawke,” Varric calls. “Look at me—hey, look at me, remember that time…”

“Vhenan,” Solas whispers, catching my hand when I recoil. “Don’t look at them. Focus on me.”

“No,” I whisper, shuddering violently. “They’re—”

“Vhenan.” I look at him, my eyes wide with sheer terror. He lifts a hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb against my skin. “It is the Nightmare. You must not let it in. It will feed off you, gaining power as it weakens you.” I blink rapidly, clenching my jaw in fear when I see them arrive closer. Something brushes against my arm, and I scream, jerking away. Solas catches me. “There is nothing here. It is an illusion, a trick of the Fade. Focus on me. Focus on my voice.”

Hawke shrieks, brushing her legs off quickly before Varric steadies her. I squeeze my eyes shut, gripping Solas' arms, my hands shaking.

“Did it have to be _spiders_?” Hawke complains, her voice hoarse.

“Fear’s a bastard,” Varric mutters. “Think about the Hanged Man, alright? Drinks with Isabela and Fenris. Remember the time we…” 

“Vhenan,” Solas murmurs. “You’re doing so well. Focus on me.”

I nod slowly, still shaking, though I can no longer hear the clatter of giant legs.

“Imagine we are back at Skyhold, in the atrium.”

I nod again, relaxing a little. “Okay,” I breathe, loosening my grip. “Okay.”

_Inquisitor Suledin Lavellan_.

I flinch again, recoiling from Corypheus’ voice.

“What the fuck was that,” Blackwall breathes.

“Did you hear it too?” Varric demands.

“It said the Inquisitor’s name, but the voice—it was inside my head, and it sounded like…that’s impossible.”

“Sounded like…someone I’d rather not mention,” Varric mutters.

“It sounded like Corypheus to me,” I breathe, staring at Solas.

“It is likely designed to shake all of us, a voice that would haunt each of us individually,” he says quietly, his own expression tight.

“In my head,” Cole whimpers. “No, no, no, no—”

_Ah, we have a visitor. _

“I’m not crazy, right?” Hawke says uneasily. “Everyone’s hearing that, right?”

“Yep,” Varric mumbles. “Not crazy.”

_Some foolish little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. _

I raise my hands to my ears, looking at Solas panicked. Corypheus’ voice crawls through my skin—the pain he inflicted controlling my hand; my days spent wandering broken, dying, lost in the mountains; the damage at the Temple and then at Haven—

_You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest here in my home. So, by all means, let me return that which you have forgotten._

My heart pounds wildly in my chest.

Solas takes my hand, his grip firm and grounding. “We must keep moving.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Cole murmurs, wringing his fingers. “No—in my head, voices in my head—get out, _get out_.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Varric says. “Stick with me. We’re gonna get through this.”

We walk hesitantly forward. I grip Solas’ arm. He always seems so confident, so in control. Even here. Even now.

“Oh shit,” Varric says. “What the—”

“_Shit_!” Hawke shouts.

I look up again, recoiling once more when I see spiders. They spin down silken webs from the rocks above—hundreds, no, _thousands _of them.

I jump back into Solas and Varric, tripping and falling to the ground.

“Shit, those are big—” Hawke gasps.

“Off—get them—get them off—” I whimper, scrambling back. Spiders crawl up my feet to my legs. I scream, fear blinding me. Hawke lunges down beside me, her daggers slicing through the air.

“Fuck!” Blackwall exclaims, reeling back. He lands hard on the ground, swatting at the air as I scream again, crying as I brush my clothes. Thousands of spiders crawl up my fingers, tickling my skin as they race over me.

“Vhenan,” Solas says urgently, bending to me. “Close your eyes. There is nothing here. It is an allusion.” I close my eyes, gasping and shaking. “Focus on my voice.” I feel his hands brush softly against my arms as my heart beats wildly out of control, so fast it hurts. I clutch my chest, groaning. “Please, vhenan, focus on me. There is nothing here.”

“Spiders—”

“You and me both,” Hawke gasps.

“They are tricks of the Fade. Demons of fear shape their appearance to unnerve each of us,” Solas says.

“What do you see?” I beg. I look up at him, wide-eyed. “Do you see something, too?”

“Yes,” he whispers, brushing my cheek. He pulls me to my feet, and I look down to see my clothes free from spiders.

“What is it?”

Solas glances to the side, and I don’t think he’s going to answer at first. His eyes catch on something behind me, his expression tightening in something akin to anger before he composes himself. “A wolf,” he answers.

I shake against him. “Spiders, for me…obviously.”

“Bats,” Blackwall grumbles. “Rats with wings.”

“Mine were bees,” Cassandra says.

“Okay, okay,” Varric snaps. “Let’s not do the whole 'what’s your biggest fear' game, alright? Let’s just try to emerge from this alive.”

“Remember,” Solas says firmly to everyone. “This is the Fade, and it is being controlled by a fear demon. What you see, what you hear—it is all part of the Nightmare. Let us continue.” Solas takes my hand firmly again, and we all walk forward again.

I breathe out evenly, focusing on Solas, on the ground beneath my feet, and the rift far ahead. I'm just starting to relax when the voice appears in my thoughts again.

_Perhaps _I _should be afraid. _

“Not this again,” Varric sighs.

_Facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition. _The demon laughs drily. _Like Blackwall. Ah, there’s nothing like a Grey Warden. And you are _nothing _like a Grey Warden._

“I’ll show you a Warden’s strength, beast,” Blackwall seethes.

_Oh, are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I._

“No,” Cole gasps.

“Don’t listen to it, Cole,” Solas advises.

“No,” Cole whimpers again, holding his head as we walk.

“It is alright, Cole,” Cassandra says. “They are just words."

“Uh—” Varric laughs uneasily. “Not to be that guy, but, uh—is—is that—”

“Son of a—_seriously_?” Hawke complains.

“What?” Blackwall asks.

“You don’t see that?”

“See what?”

“Great,” Hawke sighs. “Great. All in my head. Lovely image.”

“Our heads,” Varric corrects grimly.

We move quickly down the path. I try to stay focused, tightening my fingers on Solas’ for strength.

_Suledin Lavellan. Such a promising name. Tell me, when your keeper called you as such, do you think she knew you would kill her and all your clansmen with your incompetence?_

A strangled breath leaves me.

“Do not listen to it, vhenan,” Solas whispers, tightening his grip on my hand.

Tears flood my eyes, and I hold a hand to my mouth, nodding as I walk forward more quickly.

_Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught. _

“Die in the Void, demon,” Cassandra spits back.

“This is a fun way to spend an evening,” Varric mutters. “Wonder when it’ll be my turn.”

“Probably after this next bunch of spiders,” Hawke muses.

I grip my staff, rage blinding me momentarily. I thrust a fireball at the creatures as they scurry towards us. The demons all go up in flames instantly.

“Huh,” Varric murmurs. “Good—work, Snow.”

_Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium, you brought Hawke here…_

“Just keep talkin’, smiley.”

The demon laughs in response.

“Aw,” Hawke murmurs. “Varric, you big ol’ softie.”

“Can we not?” he complains.

“You really do care.”

Varric sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_Warden Stroud. How does it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?_

“With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast," Stroud says through his teeth.

_You have all offered me so much to feed upon. _

“Next time we end up in the Fade,” Varric sighs, “can we pick a beach or a nice mountain or something?”

“Or the Hanged Man,” Hawke muses.

“_That _would be heaven,” Varric says. “I just meant this weird dream shit.”

Despite the circumstances, Hawke laughs, the sound easing my tension.

_Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your family, not to mention your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your brother and sister, and everyone else you ever cared about. Everything you touch turns to rot._

“My, my,” Hawke muses. “That was a long one.”

There's a moment of perfect silence before the demon continues, his voice crawling through my thoughts. 

_Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din. _

Solas clenches his jaw. “Banal nadas.”

I tighten my fingers against his.

We climb stairs to another platform, and I’m feeling so tense that I startle when I see the Divine standing before us.

“The Nightmare is closer now,” she murmurs. “It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger. You must remember. Come closer, child.”

I glance at the others and step forward, letting go of Solas’ hand gently. The Divine reaches up, her fingertips glowing. She presses her forefinger to my brow gently, and I recoil in pain, holding my head again at the influx of memories.

_—the orb explodes in my hand. One moment, I’m standing in the Temple of Sacred Ashes with a dark figure lunging at me, the next I’m—in the Beyond? Am I dead? _

_ I look around wildly at my surroundings—rock and green mist. I look at my hand to find it glowing softly, a faint green that unnerves me. I flex my fingers, wincing at the bright hues. Above me, rocks float in the green sky and—is that—the Black City? The Fade? I’m in the Fade? I look up to see a brilliant white light so bright that it hurts my eyes. Against it, a figure. I look around uncertainly before stepping up to the cliff. _

_ I scale its walls, moving as quickly as I can. The Fade surrounds me in a green haze. A clacking behind me alerts me to the presence of spider demons. Fear grips me, and I force myself up faster, escaping them as quickly as I can. Some follow me so fast that they nip at my heels. I kick them down, panic seizing me. Above, the light flares. It pulls me closer, lures me in. If I can get to it, I’ll be safe. _

_ A figure stands against the light, silhouetted by it, but I recognize the Divine’s robes and the shape of her cowl. She’s alright! _

_ “The demons!” she cries, pointing below me. _

_ I move more quickly, scratching my fingers against the stone. She reaches down to me, kneeling as she stretches as far as she can. I reach up for her, my fingers barely grazing hers. I cry out in panic, jumping up to grab her hand. She grunts as she pulls me up. _

_ “It is coming!” she warns. _

_ “What is—” _

_ She pushes me ahead of her. _

_ “Keep running!” I call, reaching back to take her hand. _

_ We run together to a slit in the Fade—beyond it, I can see something bright and vivid—mountains, I think. _

_ The Divine suddenly screams, and she yanks me back. I whip around, grabbing her hand with both of mine to keep her with me. She's pulled back by demons. They latch onto her waist and legs, dragging her by force._

_ “No!” I cry, wrenching her towards me a couple steps. _

_ The demons pull her up off the ground. My feet slide across the stone as I try to pull her back. I shift my weight, dropping it lower as I pull as hard as I can. She looks up at me, her eyes shining. _

_ “Go,” she breathes. "You must go now! The demons!"_

_ “No, not without you!” I argue, gripping her tighter. She releases my hand, and I jerk forward, trying to grab at her better. I cry out, pulling as hard as I can. My muscles roar in protest—not strong enough_ _—I'm not strong enough! Please, Mythal, help me save her—_

_ “Go,” Justinia orders again, pushing me off her. I stumble backwards, landing hard. _

_ “No!” I scream as she's ripped from me, pulled out of sight. _

_ I stand up, scrambling to my feet to find her over the edge. As soon as I do, a black shadow rises above me. I gasp, leaning backwards away from it. A long finger extends out, tapping my forehead. _

_ Color vanishes as my vision blurs, and I stumble backwards, confused. _

_ I blink rapidly, staring at the ground below me. Where am I? What was I doing?_

_ I turn around, walking uncertainly forward. A dream—I’m dreaming—I blink languidly, frowning in confusion as I step through something. I trip, my hands meeting stone. I stare at them, my vision blurring. I fall to the side, and darkness takes me. _

I look up, tears brimming my eyes. “It was you,” I whisper, looking at the Divine. “They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade…but it was the Divine behind me. And then you…she…died.”

The Divine bows her head sadly. “Yes.”

“So…this creature is simply a spirit,” Stroud says, his voice low.

“I think we all knew that was the case, Stroud,” Hawke mutters.

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” the Divine offers. She closes her eyes, and a bright white light emanates from her body so sharply that I shield my eyes at first. When I look back, she is pure and beautiful—her true self.

“Are you…her soul?” I wonder slowly.

“If that is the story you wish to tell,” the spirit murmurs, “it is a good one.”

“What we _do _know,” Hawke murmurs, “is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple. Thanks to the Grey Wardens.”

Stroud turns on her. “As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant.”

“Yes,” Hawke muses drily, “Adamant, where right now Inquisition forces face an army of demons raised by the Wardens.”

“How dare you judge us! _You tore _Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!”

“Hey!” Varric shouts angrily.

“Yes!” Hawke exclaims at the same time. “To protect _innocent_ mages! Not madmen drunk on blood magic! Even without the influence of Corypheus, the Wardens go too far! They need to be checked.”

“Agreed,” Solas murmurs. “The Wardens may once have served a greater good, but they are far too dangerous now.”

“What are you saying?” Blackwall demands. “The Wardens are heroes! They defend the land against the Blight. Who will do it if they don’t? They do what they must to protect people!”

“That’s _madness_!” Hawke exclaims. “If I slit my wrists open and call forth a demon to save my friends, I’m _adding _to the problem! And these Old Gods—” She splutters, disbelief rendering her speechless.

“I cannot believe the Grey Wardens could even conceive of such a plan,” Solas says hotly. “To seek out these Old Gods _deliberately _in some bizarre attempt to preempt the Blight.”

“They had the best of intentions!” Stroud argues.

“The Blight is not something one smugly outsmarts,” Solas replies irritably.

“I don’t know what to think,” Varric sighs. “There are a few good ones, but an awful lot of the Wardens I’ve known went crazy.”

“They _hurt _people,” Cole says between his teeth.

“They made a mistake!” Stroud argues.

“A mistake that would have cost the lives of everyone in Thedas had they succeeded,” Solas snaps.

“They’re—heroes of old,” Blackwall says. “What would we do without them? The world would have ended five times over if not for them.”

“Acts of heroism do not justify bad decisions,” Hawke frowns.

“That’s rich,” Stroud spits. “It was _your _friend that blew up the Chantry in the first place, beginning this whole ordeal. And what did you do? Where is he now? Is he facing the proper punishment for his crime? No—he’s free.”

Hawke glares at him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Stroud,” Varric warns.

“You want to throw judgement at the Wardens for their desperate acts yet excuse the actions of your own friends—”

“Hey!” I shout, clapping my hands twice. “Now is _really _not the time for this, you two—or…all of you. We can argue once we’ve escaped from the _giant fear demon _that’s stalking us—you know, the one currently pitting us against each other and controlling our emotions?”

Hawke and Stroud turn to me, their expressions shifting. “Uh, Inquisitor,” Hawke murmurs.

I turn back. “Oh, _come on_!” I exclaim, angrily hurling a fireball at the spiders before they get too close. They blow up on impact. “Now, _let’s go_! I don’t want to hear another word about this Warden situation until we’re back in our own world, got it? _Got—it_?”

“Yes, Your Worship,” Stroud says.

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke replies quietly.

“Hawke, I swear to Mythal, I will _turn _this ship around.”

Hawke snickers. "You just make it so fun."

“Come,” Solas says. “Real or not, the Divine is the key to escaping from the Fade.”

I nod, leading the way forward. I grip my staff tightly, listening to my own advice. I can’t think about the Temple or the Divine or the Wardens right now. We just need to get out of here in one piece.

The voice returns to my thoughts, scoffing.

_Do you really think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are all bound through me._

“Ah,” the Divine murmurs, “so, if we banish you, we banish the demon. Thank you, every fear come to life.”

“Oh,” Hawke laughs. “You just got burned by the Divine…spirit…thing.”

_Laugh while you can, Hawke. I have a special place for you here in the Fade._

“Does it have talking horses? I’d be happy if there was just _one_.”

“You know the one thing I like about you, Hawke?” Varric murmurs.

“Just the one? I’m delightful.”

“I like how serious you are. I mean, some people go around, and all they do is _joke, joke, joke_. But you? You take things seriously.”

“It comes from years of rigorous training. I once spent an entire day in front of a mirror perfecting my straight face.”

“Well, it worked.”

“Why is there water everywhere?” Cassandra suddenly wonders, her boots splashing against the puddles underfoot.

“Maybe it’s preying on my fear of wet socks,” Hawke suggests.

“Do you think it’s from Crestwood?” I ask, looking at Solas.

He gives a thoughtful expression, nodding. “Possibly. The lake would have flooded the Fade at the rift you sealed. That is a fascinating observation.”

“Oh, no wait, look, this place has captured my true fear,” Hawke shudders. “Floating rocks.”

“And my fear of sand,” Varric adds.

“Oh—look—_cliffs_,” Hawke gasps.

“I am so glad you two are enjoying yourselves,” Cassandra mutters.

“Come now, Seeker, it’s more relaxing to make fun of everything,” Varric replies.

“It _is _helping with my trepidation. Do not let that go to your head, dwarf.”

Varric cackles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh…anyone in here afraid of pride demons?” Hawke wonders.

“Why?” Blackwall asks.

“No reason.”

The ground rumbles beneath our feet, and I look up sharply to see not one but two pride demons running towards us. One raises its hand, a ball of electricity hurling across the distance between us. Solas throws up a barrier around me at the same time I raise one over all of us. The electricity slams against the wall, flickering across its surface as it searches for a way through. I grunt at the impact on my mana, feeling the hair raise on my arms and neck from the static. I throw the barrier off us, letting it fade away. It takes the electricity with it.

Cole tries to phase out, but he can’t, and he appears dismayed by it. He runs shakily forward, gripping his daggers as he follows the others. Cassandra and Blackwall split up, each going to separate sides while Hawke launches herself at the demons head on, flipping and ducking and rolling so gracefully that, for a second, all I can do is mindlessly watch her go. Solas’ barrier protects her when she miscalculates a hit, and she throws a grin back at him. I use my staff to throw a fireball at one of the pride demons, feeling myself weaken immeasurably from the energy it takes. My mana is draining quickly, and I once again regret not taking the blasted lyrium when I had the chance.

The demon I strike roars in anger, kicking its leg out harshly. Blackwall tries to shield himself from the blow, but he flies backwards, a heap of heavy armor slamming against a wall. I quickly throw out a barrier to cushion his fall. The kick hit him hard, though, and he stirs but doesn’t rise. Cassandra dodges and slashes at the demon’s heels, earning another thunderous response from the beast. I try to freeze it in place, sweat beading my forehead as I tighten my grasp on the demon’s leg. It struggles to free itself, but I hold firm, solidifying and sealing its foot to the ground. Cole runs up the ice, using his daggers to scale the beast. As before, he drives one of the blades into the creature’s head, and it disappears.

Exhausted and drained, I turn my focus to the second pride demon. Hawke cartwheels in time to avoid a heavy punch. She uses one hand to catapult herself back a few steps to Varric. He mutters something that makes her laugh, and she wipes her forehead before charging back in. She feints left and moves around the demon to the right when it tries to strike at her. Her daggers sink into its thigh, and it cries out angrily, on the verge of kicking her. Solas erects a quick barrier over her while I summon the will for another fireball. I pant, gathering the necessary mana for even just a small one. It glows at the tip of my staff, slowly growing. I release it when I feel strong enough, staggering forward when it’s gone. It shoots across the distance to the demon’s eye, and the responding roar deafens me.

While it flails in pain, Hawke runs up to it, jumps, and lands against its chest, kicking off again powerfully. The demon stumbles back to catch itself on its foot, but Hawke’s previous wounds did enough damage that the beast slips and crashes to one knee. She rushes forward and jumps to the creature’s chest, digging her blades in deeply. The demon tries to reach for her, missing as she kicks off again. Varric aims an arrow between the demon’s eyes, and it falls in a heavy thud before vanishing, too.

Hawke gasps, leaning her hands on her knees. “If we—run into—another Maker-damned—pride demon—I’m not responsible—for my actions,” she pants, moving towards Varric. She rests her arm against his head, and he shoves her off with a laugh.

My vision grows blurry, and I stagger forward, rubbing my eyes as I jog over to Blackwall, reaching him a second after Cassandra. I fall beside him gracelessly, too exhausted to do any better.

“Blackwall,” I gasp. “Are you alright?”

He doesn’t respond behind his helmet.

“Cass—”

I don’t even finish her name before she’s peeling the helmet off. I lift his head gently, searching his hair for wounds, moving my fingers quickly but carefully.

“Blackwall, can you hear me?” I ask as the others gather around. Solas kneels beside me, his fingers glowing softly as he reaches for Blackwall’s head.

The instant the magic touches him, Blackwall jerks upright. I pull back in time to avoid getting headbutted—barely.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, frowning at us.

“You decided to take a little nap,” Varric replies.

Blackwall frowns again, rubbing his forehead. “Shit…”

“Are you alright? Can you breathe alright?” I press my fingers to his breastplate, searching for dents.

“I’m alright, Inquisitor.”

“You got hit pretty hard.”

“Guess that’s why I have all this armor.”

I release a breathless laugh, gripping his hand. I stand exhaustedly, helping him. It’s more for show than anything else, because Cassandra does all the work getting him up. He reaches for his helmet and holds it under his arm, leaning back against a rock.

“Anyone have any water?” he gasps. “I’m parched.”

“Here,” I nod quickly, reaching for my sack. “It’s full—everyone have some.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Blackwall sighs, draining a small sip. I urge him to drink more, and then he passes it around slowly, everyone have a little. Solas takes the water sack and hands it to me.

“Have some,” I insist, waving it back.

“I’m alright.”

“There’s plenty.”

He smiles softly at me, and I huff out an affectionate sigh, nodding and accepting it. I have a small swallow, closing my eyes at the relief, and I make myself save the rest for someone who may truly need it. I tie it back to my belt quickly.

“Is anyone hurt?” I ask.

Cole wrings his hands but shakes his head.

“No, I think we’re all still kicking,” Varric replies.

“Let me get that, Hawke,” I murmur, reaching for the cut on her arm.

“No, no, no,” she replies, dodging me. “I want a nice scar.”

“What she means,” Varric grins, “is save your strength.”

“Okay,” I pant. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” she replies.

“Where is the Divine?” Cassandra wonders.

“There,” Solas murmurs, pointing across the field.

The spirit waits at the top of a steep flight of stairs. I sag just looking at it.

“Of course she’s up there,” I sigh at the same time that Hawke groans.

“Why are there so many stairs?” she demands. “Does the Nightmare know I detest them? That’s cruel, even for a demon.”

Varric chuckles breathlessly, patting her back harder than I think he meant to. “Sorry,” he adds, letting his arm fall heavily. “When we’re done here, I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

“Two weeks,” Hawke nods. “I’ll just let Fenris drag my ass everywhere. He won’t mind.”

“Broody? No, he won’t mind if it’s you.”

Hawke grins lopsidedly. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about him."

Varric rolls his eyes and snorts breathlessly. 

We make it to the foot of the stairs, and I stare up in dread. Everyone does the same expect Cole, Stroud, and Solas.

“Are you even tired?” I demand, sounding angry.

It amuses Solas. He looks at me, his eyes brilliant and warm. “Yes,” he admits.

“Could have fooled me,” I say again deliberately slowly, still pretending to be miffed.

He smiles at me, pursing his lips. “My apologies, vhenan.”

“Damn right, your apologies,” I mutter, taking the first step. I groan loudly. “Ugh, I regret this already.”

“You’re making the rest of us look back,” Hawke says. “Hold up. I'm your sidekick. I’m coming. You don’t get all the glory.”

I laugh weakly, taking the stairs slowly. Hawke moves beside me, and the rest follow at an equally slow pace. I glance back, groaning again.

“I wish I was you, Cassandra,” I complain.

“What? Why?”

“You are an incontrovertible badass who never seems to tire.”

She snorts in response, chuckling once.

“Almost there,” Hawke gasps. “Well. Nearly. Sort of. Nearly sort of almost there.”

“Shut up, Hawke,” Varric says good-naturedly.

“Yep, got it.”

By the time we reach the top, we all stagger to breathless stops, some of us wheezing—definitely not me. Cole appears to be the only one not affected, but the fear in his eyes is no better.

“You are almost there,” the Divine urges. “You must not stop.”

“Just—a second there, sister,” Hawke pants. “You—just zip all—around—while we’ve been—fighting—and running—and stairs—Maker, so many—stairs—”

“Well said, well spoken,” Varric nods, leaning over to rest his hands against his knees.

“Shut—up.”

“I think—we need to build—an elevator—at Skyhold—so none of us—ever has to look—at another stair—again,” I gasp.

“Agreed—on every front,” Cassandra nods.

That makes me laugh breathlessly and a little hysterically. I sag against the wall beside me. “Fenedhis, even Cass—Cassandra—is exhausted—”

“I guess Seekers…are human after all,” Varric replies.

“Shut up—dwarf,” Cassandra responds.

“Just—saying.”

“You must make haste,” the Divine urges again. “The Nightmare is closing in on you.”

“Okay, okay,” I huff. “We’re—coming, we’re coming.” I stagger forward, my legs burning and my lungs aching. “Come on, everyone—sooner we leave—sooner we—get to sleep.”

“Which—verse of the Chant is that again?” Hawke wonders, stumbling beside me.

I laugh weakly, the sound bursting out of me exhaustedly.

“Look,” Solas says breathlessly, his voice still unfairly smooth. “The rift. It’s just beyond this canyon.”

“You must get through it!” the Divine calls urgently. “Get through and then slam it closed with all your strength! That will banish the army of demons and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade!”

We move into a painful job, the end close at hand.

“The rift!” Hawke calls excitedly. “I see it now—we’re almost there!”

“Great, Hawke,” Varric grumbles. “Why not just _dare _the Old Gods to try and stop you?”

“Okay. Old Gods, I triple-dog dare—”

“Stop! Damn it, Hawke!”

“Lighten _up_, Varric! We’re almost—” Hawke stops short, and I slam into her. “—at…the…shit.”

“That’s…a big demon,” Varric breathes.

I look up and up and _up_. Its body is like that of a spider, but it has hundreds—thousands of eyes. Its teeth are bigger than Iron Bull, its legs taller than the highest tower at Skyhold, its body bigger than—I don’t even know what.

Cold dread fills me. If that thing got out…it would be the end of—of everything.

Another whip of cold dread washes over me when I realize it very nearly _was _released.

“This is what they almost set loose?” Hawke breathes. “Those…fucking…_idiots_!”

“This is…” Stroud shakes his head. “Monstrous.”

Anger flits through me. “How could they think _this_…” I shake my head. Fabled heroes, and they almost damned us all because someone whispered in their ear.

A smaller demon—though still larger than a Qunari—slinks forward, a cowl pulled over its face. I grip my staff tighter, seeing spiders knit its long robes.

“The Nightmare, I presume,” Hawke mutters. “Pretty…convincing.”

The Divine moves past us, her brilliant moving up and away towards the enormous demon. “If you would,” she calls, “please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too.’” 

The Divine rises over us, gold energy and the purest of white lights breaking from her like streaks of lightning as she gets closer to the demon. I raise my hand, struggling to see her. She explodes when she reaches the demon, knocking us all back with the force. An ungodly rumble roars over us so deafeningly that I bring my hands to my ears, screaming without being heard. I fall to my knees, holding my ears, and I see Varric and Blackwall do the same beside me.

The light fades, along with the horrible sound, and I look up sharply to see the demon and the Divine gone. Gasping, I stand, pulling Hawke to her feet as the Nightmare screeches.

_You will die in agony!_

“Charming fellow,” Hawke mutters, running forward. She grips her blades tightly, loping down the stairs bravely. Varric calls after her, but she ignores him, launching herself up. The demon tries to catch her, but she skirts by it, landing on its other side, slicing one of its arms off. I blink in surprise as the Nightmare screams, but before it can reach her, I throw a fireball at it, gasping at the dizzying pull from my mana. Cole runs next to Hawke, and Cassandra and Blackwall hurry down the steps.

I cast barriers over them barely in time. I jerk to the left when I feel a spider crawl across my arm, but I’m annoyed with their demon’s tactics, and I slam my staff down against the ground, electrocuting the creature. The demon folds in on itself and then screeches, thrusting its arms out in a powerful blow that knocks them all back. Hawke flies the furthest, colliding with me before I can react. I cry out in surprise, hitting the ground hard as she pins me to it.

“Whoops, sorry about that,” she says, out of breath. “Could’ve at least bought you a drink first.”

I laugh hysterically, everything weighing on me heavily. Hawke grins at me and stands, pulling me to my feet. She picks up her daggers, winks, and then rushes back into the fight.

I lift my staff, breathing out slowly. My mana is almost gone. I think I can manage another fireball, but then I’ll be limited to basic shields and barriers.

I close my eyes, breathing it out slowly. Suddenly, I feel someone else’s magic against mine—blending, mixing, swirling together.

“Solas, no,” I call softly. “Don’t—”

He ignores me, maintaining a barrier around Cassandra as she launches herself forward. Solas’ magic feeds my own, offering energy and power. I conjure a quick fireball, careful with how I aim it. I try to make it as small as possible so I don’t drain Solas too much. I breathe the words quickly and then release the fireball, hurling it at the demon. It explodes over the beast, bathing it in flames. Fire licks across its cowl, and it screeches, holding its hand to where its eyes should be. Blackwall knocks him back, thrusting his shield out against the demon’s chest. The Nightmare screeches again, tipping backwards. Before it can right itself or stop the blow, Cassandra drives her sword into its chest. Cole stabs through the head, and then, after I think it’s over, Hawke whips her daggers back and cuts the head clean off.

“For good measure,” she shrugs when we all look at her. “Hey! I think we just beat our inner demon.”

Varric laughs loudly and shakes his head, glancing at the rest of us. “Yeah, she’s always like this.”

I chuckle tiredly and then realize what we’re supposed to be doing. “To the rift! Hurry!” I call. I push Solas and Varric ahead of me. Cole runs alongside them. Hawke and Stroud join me as we pull up the flank. Cole makes it through first, then Varric and Blackwall. Solas turns back, reaching for me, and Cassandra pulls him through the rift.

“Inquisitor!” Hands push me over, and I whip around when I hit the ground to see Hawke land beside me. She grabs me and rolls us out of the way. Stroud dodges the other way as a leg comes down, shaking the ground beneath us.

“Shit!” Hawke sighs, slamming her hand against the stone. “So Maker-damned close. Varric was right. I fucking jinxed us. Sorry about that, guys.”

“We need to clear a path!” Stroud shouts from the other side.

“Go!” Hawke says, pushing me. “I’ll cover you!”

“Fuck that!” I shout, shoving her back.

“_Go_! You’re the only one that can stop Corypheus!”

“Shut up, Marion,” I snap. “We’re _all _getting out of here.”

“We don’t all have _time_! Go! I’ll cover you.”

“No!” Stroud shouts, running over to us. “You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must—”

“A Warden must help them rebuild,” Hawke finishes quickly. “That’s _your _job! Corypheus is mine.”

“Then fucking _do _your job,” I order, frightened tears flooding my eyes. “Fight Corypheus with us—_out there_. No one is staying in here.”

“Suledin, _go_!” Hawke commands, pushing me.

“_No_!” I fight, pushing her back. “We’re going together, or we’re not fucking going!”

Hawke huffs at me, throwing her arms up in the air. “And Varric says _I’m _stubborn!”

“Let’s go!”

“How will we get around it?” Stroud wonders.

“It’s, like, a million feet tall,” I reply. “It—probably can’t move that fast, right? We’re like ants, we can just—”

“I’ve never had trouble stepping on ants, if that’s useful information,” Hawke says quickly.

“Then we’ll get stepped on together,” I frown at her. “Let’s go.”

I grip my staff and take Hawke’s hand, because I don’t trust her at all. We run forward, Stroud close on our heels.

“It’s coming after us!” Hawke shouts.

“Of course it is!”

“Left!”

“_Go _left or—”

Hawke tackles me to the right, and we land in a heap. “Yeah, that was poorly worded,” she agrees. “From now on, that’s the direction it’s coming from, so go the other way.”

“Got it,” I say quickly, grabbing her hand and running.

“I can run by myself, you know!”

“I don’t trust you to not do some hero thing,” I reply after a second, dodging the demon’s leg.

Hawke chuckles. “Fair precaution.”

I stop—her voice is too far away—I pull up her hand—her glove—_her fucking glove_—

“_Marion_!” I scream, whipping around to see her a dozen feet back.

“It’s alright!” she calls, spinning her daggers. “This is my job—go do yours. Tell Varric and Fenris…” She shakes her head, dismissing that train of thought as she look up at the demon. “Spiders,” she sighs. “Always the Maker-damned _spiders_—”

I wave my staff, knocking her several feet away from where the demon tries to step on her.

“_Marion, come on!_” I beg. I go to run to her, my magic too low to use again, and hands grab my arms.

“We have to go!” Stroud shouts. “She’s giving us time!”

“_No!_”

“Don’t make her sacrifice worthless! We must go!”

He knocks my staff away from me as I struggle against him, reaching out to try to pull Hawke forward.

“_Stop_!” I beg. “_We’re not leaving her_!”

Hawke fights under the demons, slashing its belly and legs fearlessly. She suddenly seizes, and I see a fang pressing into her side.

“_NO!_” I scream.

Hawke staggers forward once and falls to her knees.

“_MARION!_”

Stroud throws me back, and I land hard on the solid ground. A second later, he bursts through—the sounds of fighting deafen me—the Grey Wardens and demons and—

Adamant. We’re back at Adamant.


	33. In Death, Sacrifice

“_NO!_” I scream, scrambling back up. My voice gets lost in the cacophony as I lunge forward. I'm almost through the rift again when hands clamp down around my arm, yanking me back.

“Close it!” Stroud shouts. "It'll come through!" 

“_What did you do_?” I scream.

“Seal it!” Cullen shouts. “Seal the rift! Inquisitor! What are you waiting for?!”

“_What did you do_?” I shriek again blindly, shoving Stroud back with all my strength.

“It’s coming through!" Cullen exclaims. "Maker! Inquisitor, _seal the rift_!”

A long leg moves through the Veil. I scream in rage, tears streaking down my cheeks. I rip my glove off and raise my hand to the rift, my fingers shaking. The rift shudders and flares, fighting me as the demon slowly emerges. I grip my wrist, close my fist, and grip the edges of the rift. Pain lances up my arm, and a sob slip through—anger and hurt and pain—as I tighten my fingers and then rip my hand away. The rift seals with an explosion that knocks us all back. The leg of the beast severs, landing beside me before disintegrating. The demons around the battlements roar in anger. Inquisition soldiers look up at me as the demons flare and disappear. The fight is over.

The Inquisition shouts in victory, and I gasp, crying and panting on the ground.

I rise to my feet. Stroud comes closer to me, and I step up the platform away from him. Hatred forms in my heart so violently that it startles me. That demon would have killed everyone—would have ripped this world apart—Hawke—

“Snow,” Varric calls, coming closer. He pushes through the crowd. “Where’s Hawke?” He looks between me and Stroud, his expression growing fearful. “Where—where is she?” I clench my jaw, forcing myself to look up at him. He glances over my shoulder to where the rift once stood, his expression falling. He looks down, his eyes lost, and he pushes back through the crowd as he leaves.

“Where is the Champion?” Cassandra asks.

I see her and all the others standing nearby, staring up at us.

I turn to glare at the Wardens. “She’s dead,” I say hoarsely through gritted teeth. “She’s dead, thanks to all of you.”

“What,” Cassandra breathes. “She…can’t be…”

“Inquisitor!” an agent calls, running through the crowd. “The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared.”

I nod, unable to stop glaring at the Wardens. Disappointment and anger and hatred swirl through my heart like a venom. They killed her. They almost killed us all. Damn them.

“The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

I almost laugh bitterly.

A Warden nods, crossing his arm over his chest to me. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s…tragic mistake. Stroud, you’re the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?”

“Clarel’s mistake?” I repeat venomously. “_Clarel_? It wasn’t just Clarel’s decisions that lead us here. It wasn't her decisions solely that led to the deaths of so many. It was all of you. Every last one of you. She gave the orders, but you obeyed. You allowed _fear _to cloud your judgement, to shape your actions, and when one of you tried to stand against this madness—” I gesture to Stroud. “—you hunted him. Branded him a traitor.”

“What…what does this mean, Inquisitor?” the Warden asks quietly.

“It means you leave,” I command coldly. Stroud looks up at me in shock. They all do. “You are untrustworthy and still vulnerable to Corypheus’ manipulations. You’ve all proven that faced with the decision, you would turn to blood magic and death to solve your problems. We do not need your fear and your actions to taint this land anymore. You have gone too far this time. By the authority of the Inquisition, you are banished from southern Thedas. You are forbidden to return. Stroud will oversee your return to the Warden fortress at Weisshaupt.”

The Wardens stare at me, and I glare back coldly, unbending in my decision.

“Y-yes, Your Worship,” the Warden says quietly.

“Your Worship,” Blackwall calls, coming before me. “I…I would stay, if you’ll allow it, and continue our fight…”

“Of course, Blackwall,” I say softly. “I have never doubted your loyalty or your honor.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” he replies quietly.

My voices hardens again. “The rest of you have one week to leave southern Thedas. Go, and do not return.”

“Good luck, Inquisitor,” Stroud says. “It’s been an honor.”

I meet his gaze coldly. He looks down, nodding once before he goes.

The Wardens follow him uncertainly, and I make a point of watching them leave.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen murmurs, coming closer through the crowd of Inquisition soldiers. “Are you alright?”

I sit down on the platform, looking down at the ground. “Yeah.”

“We’ll pull our forces back to our encampment. Tomorrow, we’ll be on the road to Skyhold once more. Will you travel with us?”

I close my eyes, rubbing my temple. “Yes,” I nod. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

“You did well, Inquisitor. I’ll see you back at camp.”

I nod. Inquisition soldiers follow Cullen out, filing away slowly. Blackwall, Cassandra, and Cole join them, glancing back at me as they go. I pull my legs up, hugging them. Solas moves through the bodies scattered across the battlements carefully and sits beside me, placing his hand on my back.

“Are you alright?”

“Stroud just…left her there.”

“What happened”?

“The demon came back…Hawke said she wanted to stay back, but I refused. I tried to drag her with me, but she…tricked me, and then Stroud threw me out of the Fade before I could get to her. She fell…Can we—is there a way to go back in? Perhaps she’s alive—maybe she—”

“We cannot enter the Fade again,” he says. “Not physically. I do not know how we survived—how _you’ve _survived twice, but to chance it again would be tempting fate.”

“What are we supposed to do?” I whisper, hugging my legs tighter. “Varric and Fenris…I can’t just _leave _her there.”

“She sacrificed her life so that you may go on.”

“I didn’t want that! I _don’t _want that! My life isn’t more important than hers. She has—so much—”

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he says quietly.

“Is there anything we can do?”

“I…will search the Fade for her. Perhaps I can find her, though it will not be simple. The Fade will now be altered by all these deaths. Where we were once in a blank slate, the Fade will now be colored and marred by the emotions of the battlefield, memories twisting realty.”

“Would you try?” I whisper, looking over at him.

He searches my eyes. “Of course, vhenan.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

He rubs my back, and I lean into him, breathing out slowly.

***

I sip my tea slowly far away from the others. It’s still early in the morning; the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Despite my exhaustion from the Fade, I couldn’t sleep last night or the night before—or the night before that, either. We decided to stay with the army, travel at their pace. We’ve made it a long way in just a few days. After the bodies at Adamant were buried or burned, we began moving. Cullen tells me we should be in Skyhold by early next week.

Solas searched the Fade several times, his trips spanning hours, but he found nothing of Hawke, not even her body. He said it was still too chaotic, spirits clashing and reeling from the battle. Perhaps later, he suggested, once the field has settled more.

The tea burns in the back of my throat, but I keep sipping it anyway, staring at the hills in the distance. I’m grateful we’re out of the desert, at least. I suppose that’s something.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs.

“Leliana,” I reply quietly.

She sits down across from me. “The Wardens have left Orlais—most of them. The rest are straggling behind. I sent agents to keep an eye on their progress and escort them if necessary.”

“Thank you.”

“You dealt Corypheus a significant blow, Inquisitor.”

I look down. “We owe much of that to Hawke…and to the Divine.”

“Yes,” Leliana murmurs quietly. “Cassandra told me what you found in the Fade. That…aside, you took an army away from Corypheus. It will still matter little if Orlais falls into chaos. All arrangements have been made for the ball in Halamshiral. But we will have plenty of time at Skyhold to…rest before we must head to the Winter Palace.”

“Alright.”

“Cullen, Josephine, and I will discuss the best way to gain an audience with the empress. By the time we return to Skyhold, we should have a better idea.”

“Thank you.”

Leliana nods, folding her hands in her lap. “What was she like?” she murmurs softly, her voice a quiet whisper. “Divine Justinia…or her soul, or the spirit that took her form. I read your report. I know it isn’t clear, but…”

“She seemed…calm. Serene, even. She guided us the whole way through.”

“That does sound like her…”

“I didn’t include this part in my report,” I say quietly. “I worried it might…well…She asked me to tell you something.” Leliana’s blue eyes find mine, her expression almost pleading. “She said, ‘I’m sorry; I failed you, too.’”

“Oh,” Leliana whispers, weakening. She hangs her head a moment wearily and then stands slowly. “I should finish this before it slips my mind,” she says quickly, gripping a report in her hand. “Perhaps…later we might discuss the matter further,” she adds without turning around.

“Of course,” I reply.

She walks forward a couple steps before looking back at me. Her eyes fall to the rock beside me. “Thank you.”

I nod, and she makes her way back through the sleeping camp.

I look down, swirling the tea in my mug. I toss the rest of it. I set the mug down and pull one of my legs up to hug it. I rest my chin on it, searching the eastern sky as it darkens slightly.

Someone comes to sit beside me, and I look down when I see it’s Varric.

He plays with a crossbow bolt, rubbing the end of it with his gloved thumb. He doesn’t look at me, his eyes tracing the horizon. “Did I…did I ever tell you about the time Hawke was on a Merchants Guild hit list?” He gives a humorless snort. “Hawke’s uncle got into an investment scheme with a couple of Merchant Caste businessmen. They took a lot of people’s coin in order to arrange the import of wandering hills from the Anderfels. A delicacy…I’m told. Their weird, foreign foodstuffs arrived…alive. And one of them…true to its name…wandered off in the middle of the night…” Varric closes his eyes, bowing his head.

My chest tightens, and I close my eyes, tears streaming ceaselessly. I move my hand to Varric’s glove. He hesitates and then moves his other hand over mine.

“Shit,” he sighs. “So, the Guild…traced the shipment to Hawke’s uncle, but…as usual, he was so far in debt he…couldn’t see daylight. So…they went after Hawke instead. They sent guys from the local Carta to Hawke’s estate one night—five big dusters, armed to the teeth. They kick in the door, and Hawke yells, ‘you’re just in time!’ and drags them over to a game of Wicked Grace.”

A strangled laugh slips from me as Varric chuckles.

“They played two hands of cards before the city guard showed up to take them away.” He chuckles again, looking down. “A couple of them became regulars in our weekly game. Hawke just…had that effect on people…” Varric sighs. “I…always wanted to tell that one. Thanks.”

“Varric,” I gasp, looking at him with difficulty.

“It’s alright, Snow,” he murmurs, watching the horizon. “Hawke…never did anything Hawke didn’t want to do.”

I close my eyes, looking away as tears run hotly down my cheeks. I part my lips, holding my breath.

“I…guess I have some letters to write. I should be the one to…tell Fenris. Excuse me.”

He stands slowly, and I pull my other leg up, clutching them both tightly. I move my forehead to my knees, gasping as I try to regain control. My throat aches, the lump forming thickly.

“It is not your fault," Cole murmurs. 

I hug my legs more tightly, jumping a little in surprise.

“Sorry,” he adds quietly, sitting beside me, too. “But it is not your fault, and he doesn’t blame you.”

I move my head up, resting my chin on my arms. “She died for…me, for us.”

“She knew the whole time what would happen. She was ready.”

I close my eyes, moving my head to my knees again with a strangled gasp.

“Wait, no—that didn’t help—I mean, she didn’t want to—I mean she—I—Forg—”

“Cole,” Solas says quickly, interrupting him. “No.”

“But I made it worse!”

“I do not think Suledin wishes to forget.”

I shake my head, looking up at Cole. “Thank you, Cole, but he’s right.”

“But—” Cole frowns. “I can help. Let me do it over—”

“It just hurts, Cole,” I whisper, looking down. “Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I can make you forget. I could—”

“I don’t want that, Cole,” I murmur quietly. “I’ve told you before.”

“But…”

“Pain is a legacy, Cole,” Solas explains. “It does not need, nor should it always be, erased.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Cole,” I say. “Thank you for trying to help. Is Varric…?”

“He is…quiet. The stone is cracked, split jagged. The hawk would have been safe if it had stayed, but that isn't what hawks do.”

I look away, biting my lip hard. It takes me several long seconds to find my voice again. “Are _you _okay?” I whisper. “After the Fade?”

“No,” Cole admits. “But I am trying.”

“You’re safe now.”

“I hope so.”

With that, Cole disappears. I look down, moving my forehead to my knees again. Solas sits beside me, wrapping his arm around me firmly. I roll to him, struggling to regain control as my throat aches. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and breathe out raggedly. Solas murmurs to me quietly, his words soothing and comforting, but it rakes through my chest all the same, the memory of what happened pressing down upon me unforgivingly. 


	34. Last Resort of Good Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I spent hours trying to track down the original artist. There's a scene at the end of this chapter that was inspired by a DA fanart that saw forever ago. I THINK I finally found the original artist at this link https://siriusdraws.tumblr.com/post/147335119895/a-sequel 
> 
> I loved this concept (even though it's incredibly sad). It stuck with me for years after I saw it, and I had to write something similar to follow up on what happened in the Fade

By the time we finally return to Skyhold, everyone is exhausted and irritable and drained. Most of us spend a few days apart, settling back in. After Adamant, everyone is a little more withdrawn. I hardly see Varric at all, though Iron Bull tells me he’s alright. Krem, Dalish, and the rest of the Chargers that left return our third day home. I spend a few hours with them, listening to the rites they performed on my behalf. I cry myself to sleep that night.

I spend most of my time with Solas, taking comfort and distraction in his presence. I fall asleep listening to his stories or to his books as he reads them aloud, and when I wake in the morning, I’m happy to see him still beside me, sleeping quietly with a hand usually flung over my stomach or back, depending on how I sleep.

This morning, after we reluctantly part ways, I walk through the main hall, heading towards the courtyard to find Cassandra. Instead, Mother Giselle stops me in my path.

“My lady Inquisitor,” she calls. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.”

“I have…news regarding one of your…companions. The Tevinter.”

“Dorian?” I reply. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not wrong," she assures me. "I have been in contact with his family.” I frown at that. “House Pavus of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?”

“I’ve gathered he and his family aren’t on very good terms.”

“Yes, I believe you are correct. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading me for aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly, without telling him.” I frown more deeply. “They fear it’s the only way he’ll come.”

“If that’s the case, isn’t that all the more reason to tell him? We don’t know what they did to him.”

“I appreciate your loyalty to your friend, but family is a strong bond. He should not ignore an olive branch. It is none of our business, their personal affairs, but I was hoping, since you seem to be on good terms with the young man…”

“I won’t lie or trick Dorian into meeting his family,” I reply.

Mother Giselle sighs. “I feared you might say that. The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at a tavern just north of Raines to take him onward to meet his family. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you. If there is any chance of success in this, it behooves us to act.” She offers an elegant envelope, bowing her head before she leaves. She heads in the direction of the gardens, closing the door behind her softly.

I glance at the letter in my hand, moving through the study.

“Hi, Solas,” I murmur as I pass him.

“Vhenan,” he smiles warmly.

I take the stairs up two at a time, finding Dorian in his chair. Whatever book he’s reading has him laughing, and I hesitate. He glances up, noticing my presence.

“Ah, my dearest Inquisitor, how are you?”

“Dorian,” I murmur softly, “there’s a letter you need to see.”

He smirks, closing the book with a raised eyebrow. “Ooh, is it a _naughty _letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan lord? I imagine you _would _receive a fair share of courters. Have they begun offering murders and ritual sacrifices in your honor? If only they knew you were already smitten, eh? Poor chaps.”

I half-smile. “Not quite. It’s…from your father.”

Dorian sits up, dropping the book and his good humor. “My father. I see. And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?”

“A…meeting, apparently.” 

He stands. “Show me this letter.”

I hand it over quickly. He reads it with an angry expression, his eyes growing harder until he finally scoffs loudly.

“‘I know my son’?! What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so _typical_!” he seethes. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“That would be pretty hard to do with me standing there.”

Dorian glares at the letter. “He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, although Maker knows why he’d think I would. Let’s go. Let’s meet this so-called ‘family retainer.’ If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone! You’re good at that, right? If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his wit’s end!”

“After you,” I muse.

“Unbelievable.” Dorian grumbles under his breath as he goes, the words indecipherable though obviously laced with a few choice curses.

Solas looks up when Dorian pushes the door to the study open loudly, still grumbling. I smile at him. “Off to take care of something,” I murmur. “I’ll be back—by tonight, definitely, if not earlier.”

“Dareth shiral, vhenan,” he murmurs, his expression somewhat amused—at what, I’m not sure.

I smile again, following Dorian. I jog a few steps to catch up with him.

“Thinks he can just…” Dorian continues, mumbling too low. “Unbelievable! Send a letter and think everything will be cheery.” Dennett helps us saddle up. “‘Oh, hello, Father, yes, the retainer _did _have me kidnapped. Could you pass the cranberry sauce? Typical, idiotic…” We ride to the gates, and I nod gratefully at the soldiers as we pass through to the bridge. “Can you believe him?!”

“Bad blood, I take it?” I hum lightly.

Dorian throws his head back and laughs bitterly. “Interesting turn of phrase. But yes.” We move into a light gallop. “They don’t care for my choices, nor I for theirs.”

“Because you wouldn’t get married?” I wonder. “Because you left?”

“That, too,” he growls unhappily. “I wonder how much my father paid this man to wait around just _in case _I showed.” Dorian sighs heavily. “We’ll find out soon. Bloody…bastard…”

“Is there anyone else in your family? Anyone you were close to?”

“Ah, yes, the family dog.”

I smirk.

“_I know my son_. What utter—did you read the letter?”

“No,” I admit.

“Saved your eyes, then. Unbelievable. Complete and utter—total—_argh_!”

“I’m with you,” I murmur simply, looking over the mountains. "Whatever happens, whatever this is, I'm with you."

We make it to the tavern within a couple of hours, during which time Dorian goes from grumbling under his breath to shouting loud enough to scare the birds and then back again. Despite it all, I don’t get the full picture of what happened. Whatever it was clearly hurt him, and that's enough for me.

When we reach the tavern, Dorian falls silent, several degrees paler than before. We tie our mounts up, and he leads the way inside, fidgeting a little.

“Uh oh,” he murmurs when we step in. “Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.”

“I’ve got your back,” I reply.

“Thank—”

“Dorian.”

Dorian’s eyes widen for a split second, and then he frowns and turns slowly. A man moves out of the shadows, his hands clasped uncertainly before him. His magister robes brush against the floor as he steps forward, stopping several feet away from us.

“Father,” Dorian mutters. “So. The whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just…what? A smokescreen?”

“Then you were told,” the magister says, stepping forward again. He sees me, nodding his head. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course not,” Dorian scoffs. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think? What is this exactly, Father?” he demands. “Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”

The magister sighs resignedly. “This is how it has always been.”

“Dorian has every right to be angry,” I say, frowning.

“Thank you,” Dorian huffs. “And you don’t even know the half of it!” He glances at me. “But maybe you should.”

“Dorian,” his father warns tiredly. “There is no need to—”

“I prefer the company of men,” Dorian says. “My father disapproves.”

“_What_?” I say harshly. Dorian looks at me uncertainly, misunderstanding my reaction. “Why does that matter?” I add, frowning at the magister.

Dorian crooks an eyebrow at his father. “I have no idea.”

“This _display _is uncalled for,” the magister murmurs.

“No, it _is _called for,” Dorian returns. “You called for it by luring me here.”

“This is not what I wanted.”

“I’m never what you wanted, Father, or had you forgotten?”

“Why does it matter who you…Is that a big deal in Tevinter or something?” I ask. “_Why_?”

“It’s only a big deal if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard,” Dorian seethes. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw—every aberration—is deviant and shameful. It must be _hidden_.”

Dorian’s father closes his eyes, bowing his head.

“So, that’s what this is all about?” I murmur.

“That’s not all it’s about,” Dorian replies, watching his father.

“Dorian, please,” the magister begs. “If you’ll only listen to me—”

“Why?” Dorian demands. “So you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian waves his hand at his father. “_He _taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of a weak mind.’ Those are _his _words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” Horror washes over me. Dorian's voice grows so hurt that tears flood my eyes. “You tried to—_change _me!”

I step forward once, taking Dorian’s hand firmly. “Dorian,” I breathe.

“I _only _wanted what was best for you,” his father tries to explain.

“No!” Dorian snaps. “You wanted what was best for _you_! For your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!”

Dorian slips away from me, moving to the bar. I follow him, pressing my hand to his back. He breathes out, and I’m honestly not certain what I’m supposed to do here. Every part of me, all the vengeful, spiteful parts, want me to march Dorian out of here. If it wasn’t Dorian’s heart that would break, I might.

“Maybe…” I breathe out, having difficulty uttering the words. “He came here for a reason. Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. You’ll never forgive yourself.”

Dorian sighs, closing his eyes. He looks over at me, and his expression makes me want to cry. He looks so scared and lost, so hurt—so different from the bravado he dons. He breathes out once with a quiet nod, stepping back. He turns to look at his father. “Tell me why you came,” he says slowly, crossing his arms.

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition—”

Dorian throws a hand in the air. “_You _didn’t! I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do!” Dorian shakes his head. “Once…I had a father who would have known that.” Dorian’s father hangs his head. Dorian shakes his head and marches to the door. He gets as far as putting his hand around the knob before his father’s voice stops him.

“Once…I had a son who trusted me…a trust I betrayed.” Dorian turns around. “I only wanted to talk to him…to hear his voice again…to ask him to forgive me.”

Dorian stares at his father in shock before turning to glance at me. I offer him a small smile, moving past him. I rub his arm and step through the door, closing it softly behind me.

***

Dorian is hours in the tavern. Surprisingly, since I know myself well enough to know that I can be pretty impatient, I don’t mind. I brush Dorian’s horse and my hart, feed them both carrots, and play with a small caterpillar on the side of the building, gently coaxing it into a large plant with lots of leaves. When all else fails to entertain me, I practice balancing a flame on my fingertips, changing it from one finger to another as seamlessly as possibly. I get pretty good at it.

When he does emerge, Dorian is very quiet. I don’t push him for anything. He seems—content, perhaps. Not upset, not happy—just…reflective.

“Thank you for coming with me, Inquisitor,” he murmurs as we mount up. “I think I just…need to process.”

“Of course, Dorian,” I reply quietly.

I ride alongside him, mirroring his casual trot. It takes us more time to get back, and Dorian spends the whole time deep in his thoughts, his expression far away. I glance at him periodically, concerned that I should say something and haven’t, but, as he said, he just needs some time. 

When we get back to Skyhold, the sun is long gone, and I’m ravenous. We deliver the horses to the stable and make our way slowly back. Dorian stops before we reach the lower courtyard, leaning against the side of the fortress, sighing quietly.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride,” Dorian murmurs quietly. “Once, I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now, I’m not certain…I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

I move beside him, touching my arm to his. “Are you alright?” 

“No,” he admits. “Not really.” He sighs quietly and looks over at me. I admire his eyes, smiling at him softly. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected, but…it’s something.” He looks down. “Maker knows what you must think of me now after that whole display.”

I reach over and take his hand, holding it tightly with both of mine. “I think you’re very brave.”

“Brave?” Dorian repeats in surprise, looking over at me again.

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path. I’m very proud of you, Dorian.”

Dorian offers me a smile so warm that it almost hurts. “At any rate,” he hums, “time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Are you coming?”

I laugh quietly. “Get started without me. I need to track down a meal first.”

“As you say, my good lady. And…” He looks up at me. “Seriously, Sul. Thank you.”

“Of course, Dorian,” I murmur. “Have something to eat, too,” I add, just to see his reaction.

He smirks at me. “Yes, Mother.”

I laugh and push him towards the tavern. I turn and take the stairs up to the kitchen. I grab some stew and bread and then walk to Solas’ study.

He’s working diligently at his desk, writing something when I enter. He looks up at me, offering a warm smile as he finishes.

“How did it go?” he murmurs.

“Well, I think. Did you eat?”

“I was waiting for you,” he replies. As he says it, I see his own dinner sitting on his desk.

I grin at him and fall on the couch. He picks up his bowl, heating it as he joins me. I throw my legs over his lap, settling in as he gives me another adoring look.

“How was your day?” I wonder. “I grabbed too much bread. Do you want some of this?”

He smiles, accepting it. “I spent most of it with the Dagna. She’s very optimistic about the glove. She thinks it will be ready soon.”

“Really?” I ask hopefully.

He nods, chewing thoughtfully. “The trick has been allowing magic to flow through the glove’s material as naturally as your hand. After several failed attempts, I think we’ve gotten the design right. I’m no Arcanist, but I gave her as much information as I could so she could best determine its movability.”

“Thank you, Solas,” I murmur. “I know you have so much other work to do. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Of course, vhenan,” he replies, looking at me seriously.

I eat a little of my soup, smirking to myself before I finally give up. I lean back to set my bowl on the desk against the wall, moving to take his from his hands. He gives me an amused look when I do, letting his hands fall. I lean backwards to set his bowl down securely, as well. We can always reheat it in a minute.

I glance at the door, waving my hand at it with a whispered word. The wind rustles several papers on his desk and slams the door harder than I intended, but Solas seems amused by it. I sit up, pulling him a little closer before I press my lips to his, moving slowly. He kisses me back at the same pace, his lips warm and wonderful. I smile softly, enjoying it when he returns the gesture. Heat rushes up through my spine, and a blush spreads evenly across my cheeks.

I cup my hand around Solas’ jaw, angling my head to reach him better. I sit straighter, leaning into him as his hand comes to my cheek, his thumb moving gently across my skin. I part my lips, giving a quiet sound when his tongue accepts the invitation, moving against mine. Heat rushes up through me again, tightening my muscles as it pools low in my stomach. I shift a little, moving closer. After a long moment, I kneel up and throw my leg over his lap. He wraps an arm around my waist, leaning up to meet my lips as I hover over him. He presses me to his chest, confining me to the spot as I kneel far above him.

My breathe flees me in a rush, and I smile again, heat creeping up my cheeks and down my chest. I press my fingers to the back of Solas’ head, moving my other hand to his chest. I feel his heart thrum under my fingers as fast as mine, and I smile again. Solas’ arm constricts around my waist, pulling me even closer. I try to drop my weight, but he keeps me held to him firmly, his fingers pressing into my hip. He sits up, his lips moving against mine more fervently as his other hand moves to my back. His fingers rake gently down my shoulder. I give an embarrassing sound in response to that, pulling my lips away enough to reangle. I whisper his name before kissing him again, rewarded with his fingers tightening on me. I give another quiet sound when his lips move against mine hungrily.

I adjust my weight, moving slowly down his torso. He tightens his hold on me briefly, keeping me still before he lets me move. I pant against him, lowering my hips enough to settle on his. I gasp, and a low sound escapes me at the wild whip of heat that rushes through me when I feel his desire match my own. He presses against me, lighting a furnace under my skin. Solas moves his hand to my thigh, and I roll my hips softly, eliciting a quiet sound from him that is so intoxicating that it staggers me.

I return the sound, rolling again gently. Solas winds an arm around my waist again, his fingers, digging into my hip and thigh. I move one of my hands to his face, letting my thumb arc over his cheekbone the way he does to me so often. I enjoy the way he angles his head up to meet me, smiling again softly. His breaths run wild against me, clashing with mine heatedly. I pull back enough to offer his name in a low, breathy voice and switch the angle again. He tightens his fingers against me at the sound, his hips gently meeting mine on my next roll. Another wave of heat blinds me, and I make a louder sound, unable to focus on anything other than him. At my noise, Solas’ breath hitches, and he presses me closer, his arm guiding another roll. He moves his hand from my thigh to my face, his fingers lacing through my hair as his thumb dances across my skin adoringly.

I move my hips down more, grinding into him with a blinding greed. He offers another furnace-stoking sound in response, and I repeat it a little less carelessly, raking my fingers down his chest. I stop when I reach his stomach, moving my fingers back up to feel his heart race. His fingers tighten against me once more, hard enough that I think they might, and hope they do, bruise. I move against him, heat and pleasure and unchecked desire making me careless and greedy. Solas releases another soft, delicious sound before he moves his hands to my waist. His fingers dig into me, and he holds my hips still.

He pulls away from my lips, and I press my forehead to his. I lick my lips, gasping for air.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs breathlessly.

Another sound escapes me at how low and husky his silky voice has become. When he speaks again, he sounds strained.

“Vhenan—”

“Solas,” I return, my voice strange to my own ears, low and unfamiliar.

“We shouldn’t,” he repeats, seeming less sure than before.

“Why not?” I breathe, smiling.

“It—wouldn’t be…right—”

“Why not?” I challenge again, punctuating my question with a roll of my hips even as he tries to hold me still. “Fenedhis, you feel so good—”

Solas kisses me again fervently, his lips and tongue swift and decisive. He wraps an arm around my waist, picking me up swiftly. I gasp in surprise, feeling the couch press against my back as he shifts our position. He presses down against me, and I wind my legs around his waist, my fingers moving against his arms and back urgently. One of his arms balances his weight, but the other slides down my body, settling low on my hip. I arch into him, feeling the weight of his wolf necklace press against my stomach. I offer a quiet sound, rolling up into him. His fingers tighten on my waist, and I repeat the sound, enjoying the way he responds. He kisses me ravenously, offering a similar sound that lights another fire along my skin.

I rake my fingers down his back, listening intently to the sound he offers in return. His hand slips under my shirt to the small of my back, his fingers digging into my skin as I arch up to meet him more. I pant out a curse with his name, and he groans again softly, his hips moving down against mine. Another furnace-like wave of heat staggers me, and I pant, gripping his arms tightly.

I recoil when I smell smoke. I glance over, gasping and breaking from Solas’ lips when I see a small fire consuming the chair in the corner.

“Shit!” I gasp, sitting up. I move my right hand between us, waving at the fire quickly. The gust of wind puts it out, and I sag back against the arm of the couch, my legs wound around Solas carelessly. “Sorry!” I laugh, embarrassment coloring my cheeks.

Solas laughs breathlessly, his expression adoring past the wide expanse of his pupils. He presses his forehead to mine, his breaths moving as fast as mine. I look down at his lips, licking my own swiftly.

“Come upstairs with me,” I murmur.

“I—can’t,” he replies, his voice unsure.

“Come upstairs with me,” I repeat, smiling.

“We shouldn’t,” he offers again.

“Please,” I whisper. “Just to—talk. About—pressing—magical matters.”

He smirks, pressing his lips to mine again. I moan quietly, gripping his shirt and bunching it.

“Alright,” he breathes, kissing me again heatedly. “To talk,” he adds quietly.

I grin and nod. I move out from under him and pull him up with me. I hold his hand tightly, praying we don’t pass anyone along the way. We reach the main hall, and the gods must be awfully busy, because Josephine stops us.

“Ah, Inquisitor!” she murmurs.

“Josephine,” I gasp, stepping in front of Solas a little. The reason why makes my cheeks burn and my heart race, and I smile, squeezing his hand behind my back. “Hi! How—how are you?”

“I’m well, Inquisitor. Hello, Solas,” she adds, nodding to him.

“Hello, Ambassador,” he replies, his voice so composed and silky that I bite my lip, resisting the urge to do something crazy.

“I wanted to inform you, Inquisitor, that we have several issues at the war table for you to address. Perhaps you could come by in the morning?”

“Yep—yes, definitely—in the morning—will do.”

“And I was hoping to discuss your outfit to the masquerade. I have several ideas that I think could send a powerful enough message for those who—”

“Josephine,” I grin breathlessly, “do you think perhaps we could discuss it in the morning? I’m very sorry. I’m quite tired.”

She smiles and laughs. “Of course, Inquisitor. Forgive me. I’ve had my head in the clouds all day. I didn’t even realize—oh, is _that _the time?” she gasps, seeing the windows. “Oh my—it is—much later than I thought. My apologies. Good night, my lady Inquisitor.” She shakes her head at herself, turning around.

“Good night, Josephine,” I call shakily, smiling widely at her when she hears the tremor in my voice.

I move backwards with Solas, reaching the door to my tower. As soon as I close it, Solas pins me to the wall, pressing his lips to mine. I gasp and offer a careless sound, hitching my leg up over his hip. He smiles softly, pulling my knee higher. His hand runs along and then under my thigh. He reaches for my other leg, lifting me easily. I cling to him as he walks up the stairs, his lips moving against mine furiously. I roll against his stomach, throwing his balance off, and he catches us on the wall, pressing me to it again. I grin, letting my tongue explore his mouth liberally. He gives a quiet groan, his fingers tightening on me. He lifts me off the wall again, moving up the stairs quickly. His arm winds around my waist, keeping me still while his other fingers dig into my thigh. I try not to move anymore on the way up, consoling myself by raking my fingers down his back.

When we finally reach the top, Solas presses me against the wall briefly before moving me to the bed. I cling to him, pulling his shirt up as he crawls across the mattress and lays me down against the pillows. He moves his head to get rid of the shirt, and my eyes scan down his chest. My breath catches before he finds my lips with another searing kiss. I move my hand to his chest, feeling along the contours of it greedily, panting when I feel his heart pound erratically against my fingertips. I reach for my own shirt, pulling it swiftly out of my leggings and unbuttoning it. Solas kisses me hungrily, his hand falling on my bare waist as I throw the shirt carelessly. His fingers explore up my back before returning to grip my hip.

Heat overwhelms me, and I clasp his shoulders, my nails digging softly into his back. He groans against my lips, lighting another fire under my skin. I pull his hips down with my leg, offering a breathy sound when he presses against me once more. I lift my hand to his chest, moving it down swiftly past his stomach to feel him. His lips move against mine flawlessly, stealing my breath. Whatever little bit I was holding onto tumbles away clumsily when my fingers find and stretch over him. He groans quietly, his necklace hitting my stomach, cool to the touch as he shifts his hips in my hand. I gasp, biting his lip lightly. He reangles his head, his tongue delving into my mouth.

I reach lower, moving my leggings, pulling them off quickly. He kicks his away, pulling my hand up when I try to find him again. He interlaces our fingers, bringing my hand high above my head. Sweat beads along my back as I arch into him, trying to find him again. He kneels up away from me, and I smirk against his lips.

He pulls away from me, our breathes mingling together as he presses his forehead to mine.

“We shouldn’t,” he says again.

“I want to,” I breathe, my fingers digging into his shoulders. I raise my hands to his face to see him. His eyes find mine in the dark, and my heart reacts violently to the wide expanse of his pupils. “Do you want me?” His expression weakens, the look in his eyes growing dark. I fight a grin, raising an eyebrow. “We _could _just go back to reading in this very bed. There’s a fascinating book on the anatomy of—”

Solas gives a wolfish grin before pressing his lips to mine, silencing me. “Ar lath ma,” he whispers before kissing me again.

I groan in response, gripping his arm as he balances over me. He moves his hand off my waist, the heat from it disappearing. I gasp when it returns to me, moving slowly between our bodies. I widen my legs impatiently, hitching one of them over his hip. His fingers brush against me, eliciting a long, breathy sound. Solas swallows it, his fingers pressing a soft circle to me as I shake. His fingers lower, and he gives a pained sound when he feels how absurdly slick I’ve grown. I wrap my arm around his neck, my other fingers digging in to his arm.

He moves his fingers to my entrance, and I groan again, pulsing eagerly. His thumb resumes the circle against me, and I choke out another sound, my skin tinging with fire. I gasp and shudder as he moves his finger into me delicately, my walls slow to accept him. He groans when his finger fills me, a small smile at his lips as he hungrily devours me. I roll against his hand, adjusting to the intrusion slowly. I feel idiotically full, my walls slow to adapt. He curls his finger, drawing lightly against my walls as if searching skillfully. I don’t know for what until he presses against something that makes me break from his lips and moan loudly. I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut as I tighten my hands on him, moaning his name. His lips move to my neck, a smile in his kiss as his tongue presses against my skin. I arch into him as he moves his finger back out slowly, humming at my throat. I gasp and pant, feeling myself relax as he pushes back into me.

He continues with one finger for a long minute before slowly adding a second, his teeth grazing against my skin lightly enough to raise shivers along my arms. I release another strangled sound when he curls his fingers, his thumb moving against me smoothly and quickly.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low, a smile in it.

A wave crashes over me, and I gasp, arching to him as his fingers move against me skillfully. My walls close tight around his fingers, fluttering as I cry out again senselessly, heat spreading up from my stomach and lighting me on fire. Solas gives a delicious sound at my throat, his lips smiling maddeningly against my skin. He works me through the feeling, his thumb circling me more gently as I come down from it, gasping and panting. My heart feels like it might actually burst from my lungs, hammering against my chest hard enough to thrum in my ears.

I groan Solas’ name again, settling back against the bed as I pant.

I open my eyes to see him watching me hungrily, a soft smile lightening his hooded eyes. I gasp, moving his head up. His lips devour mine as I moan against him, the sound breathy and relaxed. His fingers move away from me, gripping my back. I feel my own slickness on his skin and breathe out another sound heavily. A blinding desire replaces the release, and I smirk against Solas’ lips.

I grip his shoulders and roll us over, landing on top of him. His arms wind around my back, his fingers raking through my sweat as he finds my waist again. I reach between us, finding and stroking him. He groans against my lips as I bring him to me. His fingers helped, so I’m able to take him relatively smoothly, though I go slow. I gasp and hold my breath when my hips meet his, and he groans against my kiss so deliciously that I think I might crash over the edge again just from hearing it. His fingers dig into my skin, his touch gentle but urgent. Tears spring to my eyes as I adjust, and I give myself a moment, relieved as the twinge of pain dissipates, and then I move.

I kiss down Solas’ jaw, letting my tongue press against his throat to feel his pulse race. His breathless sounds overwhelm and stagger me, and I smile against his skin, feeling his fingers press against my thighs tightly.

I speed up slowly, adjusting better as I go. I drop my hips and grind against him before moving back up, blinded at how he feels against me and within me. I pant breathlessly against his skin as my stomach burns, unused to the exercise. Finally, I can’t take it, and I sit up against him, rolling my head back. I feel my hair brush against my waist as I grind against his hips, moving evenly and languidly. Solas groans, and I squeeze my eyes at the sound, rolling more fluidly.

I maintain the position for a long moment before dropping my hand to his chest, using my other to find one of his. I intertwine our fingers, moving my knees out to get better traction in the sheets. Solas squeezes my fingers, rolling his hips up to meet me perfectly. Each roll lights an even greater fire under my skin, and I revel in the sweat that lines my skin as each breath becomes a reverent variation of his name and what he is to me.

Solas sits up suddenly, winding his arm around my waist as he groans my name. His lips crash against mine ravenously, his kiss searing as I move more quickly. He presses his forehead to mine as both of his hands find my waist. He guides my movements, gasping and grunting quietly, each sound pushing me dangerously close to the edge. Our breaths meld together as we move, and I tighten my grip on his shoulders. Hear pools thickly in my stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. Solas’ arm winds around my waist, his fingers moving up between my shoulder blades. He rakes down my skin, eliciting an uncontrolled sound from me. I roll my head back, exposing my neck. He presses his lips to it, his tongue undoubtedly finding how absurdly my heart races.

I pant out his name, hearing him offer mine in return with a breathless, intoxicating groan. I give a pitiful sound, rolling against him more swiftly. I lose my rhythm entirely, my muscles screaming in protest at the workout, though I’m desperate to find that release again and to hear Solas find the same. As if sensing my discomfort, Solas moves his arms around me, rolling me back over smoothly. He continues his thrusts without missing a beat as my back finds the sheets again. He presses his forehead to mine, and I raise my hands to his neck, keeping him there. My legs hug his waist, and his presses a hand against my back, resting on his elbow. He moves his other hand between us, and I cry out when he finds that spot again, entering a circular rhythm. I thrust my hips forward greedily. He brushes against that spot inside me, and then I'm blinded.

My vision whites out, and I offer his name, panting as the waves crash over me again. Tears slip down my temples, embarrassingly enough, and I tighten my fingers on his skin. Solas groans when I constrict tightly around him. I tremble from the force of it, my nails digging in as I offer his name again and again like a prayer.

Solas moves against me less rhythmically until, seconds after me, he groans and stops, pressing his forehead to mine with a delicious rendition of my name. The sound is so delicious that I whimper in response, panting and shifting my hips greedily to elongate the moment even more. Solas moves his hand to my waist, groaning as he joins me, his fingers tight across my skin. I see a flickering against my vision, bright orange light dancing across my eyelids, and I honestly don’t know anymore which of us may have caused it this time. I wave my hand lazily to put the fire out, gasping for air as Solas rests against me breathlessly. 

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Solas breathes, his fingers loosening on me.

I return it with an idiotic smile, feeling lightheaded and weightless. Solas presses a hand to my cheek, and he pulls back to look at me, his eyes sweet and beautiful. He kisses me softly, his lips moving against mine so reverently that another round of tears rolls down my temples. I pray it’s too dark for him to notice that as he pulls back to press his forehead to mine again. He shifts away from me, pulling me with him delicately as he lays back. He kisses my forehead, his hands clasping around me gently. He finds the blanket as my eyes slide closed in blissful exhaustion. I shiver when a cold wind comes through the open door, and Solas bring the blanket over me quickly. I move my leg over his, resting my arm across his stomach. I look up at him, kissing him again. His fingers lace through my hair, his thumb arcing affectionately against my cheek as he returns the kiss tenderly.

I lower my hand to his chest, feeling his heart race as fast as mine. He hugs me to him, his fingers lightly tracing against my sweaty arm. I rest against his shoulder, admiring him. He turns his head, his eyes capturing mine adoringly. I smile at him lazily, moving my head back down. I fall asleep before I even have time to hear his heart relax into its normal pace.

***

When I wake in the morning, the memory of last night settles on me, and I smile against my pillow. I stretch, reaching over to find Solas. My hand slides across the sheets, finding them cold. I open my eyes, squinting in the sunlight. I overslept. A lot.

“Solas?” I murmur, my voice thick from sleep.

I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around me tightly in the cool room. Solas stands on the balcony, leaning against it. His arms are spread against the railing, his head hanging. I find my clothes quickly and pull them on, yawning as I move out onto the balcony.

“Shit, it’s cold,” I murmur, folding my arms across my chest. “Are you alright?”

I move beside him against the railing, looking up at him. His expression is far away, and my heart sinks when I see an old, old pain etched across his features.

“Solas,” I whisper, moving my hand around to his cheek. He closes his eyes, and that somehow makes the look even more saddening. I pull his cheek gently to make him face me. “What’s wrong, ma lath?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back.

“For what?” I wonder, going so far as to add a bewildered, whispered laugh. “You haven’t done anything.”

“Last night was…a mistake.”

I purse my lips, rolling my eyes. “You _wound _me,” I joke quietly.

His eyes find mine, his expression so pained that my humor falls away.

“Why was it a mistake?” I murmur. “Talk to me.”

“I shouldn't have encouraged…I shouldn’t have…”

“Last night was…” I shake my head, unable to come up with a word that doesn’t sound cheesy or inaccurate. Beautiful, wonderful, amazing. “I don’t regret that.”

“You will,” he promises, closing his eyes again.

“I won’t,” I reply firmly. “Solas, stop. Whatever—I know—” I breathe out. “Look at me.” He does, slowly. “I know you’re hiding things,” I say with a small smile. “I know you’re—keeping something from me, but I _know _you—”

“You don’t,” he whispers.

“I do. Maybe _you _don’t, but I’ve seen you. You’re—gentle and curious and bright. You _see _and accept. You don’t ignore the parts you don’t like, you—you try to understand them. I’ve learned so much from you, _gained _so much from you—which is all beside the point, the _point_ is—”

Solas shakes his head, his expression twisting inside me.

I sigh out a little impatiently. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Honestly?”

“Yes,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

“Good. I love you, too. You know what?” I muse. “I’ve angered a fucking _would-be _god, like, four times already. I’ll probably die before this whole thing is—”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, reaching for me. His fingers circle around my arms, a slight tremor in them. 

“Solas,” I murmur, my chest tightening. I bring my hands to his cheeks, pressing my forehead to his. “My point is…whatever we’ve done, whatever we’re going to do—this is what’s important, what’s happening now. I don’t regret anything, and I cannot imagine a reason in the _world _why I would, and I’m pretty imaginative. I love you. I _adore _you, Solas. I want to be happy—I want _you _to be happy. We aren’t guaranteed anything.” I pull back to look at him. “We didn’t do anything wrong. _You _didn’t do anything wrong. You make me so happy. Do I make you happy?”

He closes his eyes again, nodding slowly.

“Then let’s just...keep making each other happy for as long as we can, alright? Who knows what’ll happen? You might be free of me tomorrow.”

“Vhenan,” he pleads again, moving his arms to pin me to the railing.

“What?” I challenge softly.

He lifts his eyes to mine. The pain in them is staggering and ancient, something I don’t think I’d even be able to comprehend if he tried to explain it. “You…deserve…so much better.”

I smirk. “How about you let me worry about that, huh?”

“I am…I should never have…” He looks up at me again, his expression conflicted. “Losing you would…” He shakes his head.

“Then don’t lose me,” I shrug, as if it’s that simple. I raise my hand to his cheek. “I’m with you, Solas. I’m yours.”

Solas hangs his head, and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing before he lifts it again, pressing his lips to mine. “I’m sorry, vhenan,” he whispers. “I wish I was stronger.”

“Me, too,” I murmur. “I could carry a shield or a heavy sword if I—”

Solas pulls me to him, hugging me tightly. His fingers lace through my hair, and I press my forehead to his neck, wrapping my arms around him just as firmly.

“It’s okay,” I whisper.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he breathes, his voice so sad that it aches within me again.

“Ar lath ma,” I reply, tightening my hold on him. “It’s okay, ma lath,” I murmur. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

***

“Inquisitor! Inquisitor! Over here! Excuse me, sir—oh, what a lovely mask! I just need to scoot by you real quick, whoops, sorry about that—Inquisitor!”

I grin at Dagna as she squeezes through the crowded main hall to catch up to me. “Dagna,” I laugh, stopping near the dais. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m _great_! Never been better! Hi, Solas!” she adds, waving as he stands beside me, his fingers wound around mine.

“Hello, Dagna,” he replies, his voice amused at her enthusiasm. I turn to grin at him, enthralled with the tone.

“Oh! I interrupted! I have the _worst _timing! Were you two going to dinner? I mean, to the main hall—I mean, we’re _in _the main hall!” She laughs, waving her hand.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” I assure her with my own laugh. “What’s up?”

She grins widely. “Are you ready for the _best day _of your _life_, Inquisitor? Are you? You are, aren’t you? Oh, ancestors, I’m so excited! Are you ready?”

I laugh more loudly than I mean to. Something crashes open at the end of the hall, and I wince without turning around. Some of the men are so rough with that door. It’s a wonder it doesn’t come off. “Yes, Dagna, what—”

“No, no, wait, stop! _Stop him_!”

“Inquisitor, get down!” Cullen shouts.

Solas pulls me down as something crashes against the chair behind me, tipping it over noisily. I look up wildly to see a large commotion in the room, though I don’t know what started it with so many nobles running. Lords and ladies scream and race around, struggling with each other in an effort to escape..._something_. Solas stands in front of me, keeping me behind him.

“Stop!” Cullen orders.

I try to look through the racing bodies. Leliana appears before me and Solas, thrusting her arm out protectively.

“Varric,” Cullen exclaims, “what are you doing?”

“_What gives you the right_?!” an unfamiliar voice roars.

“Get the Inquisitor to safety!” Cullen orders.

Josephine screams as something crashes against the wall near her.

Bodies move, skirting to the sides of the room, and I catch a quick glimpse of something white glowing in the hall.

Varric lunges forward, blocking the glow. “Stop!” he shouts. “Everyone, stop! Just wait a _minute_!”

Cassandra dives forward next to him, the ring of metal clashing against the uproar of the crowd. As people scurry through the hall, many of them fleeing, I catch a glimpse of a man in the crowd—an elf. Lines glow brilliantly along his skin, disappearing down his neck and reappearing across his hands, interrupted only by armor and the cape he wears. Varric grabs a cloth off a nearby table, winding it around the elf’s hand while Cassandra grabs his other arm, locking it into place when the elf tries to pull a great sword from his back.

His eyes find mine, and the white lines etched into his skin flare as his eyes glow the same color. Rage colors his expression—a pure hate that startles and alarms me. “_What gives you the right_?!”

“Calm down!” Varric orders, holding fast when the elf tries to kick him off. “Stop—_think about what you’re doing_!”

Leliana’s arm continues to hover, her other hand at her belt where her daggers rest.

Cullen draws his sword, the metal shrill in the hall.

“NO!” Varric shouts. “Put that away! Fenris, _stop_!”

“No,” I breathe, backing up a step. “Oh, gods.”

“_What gives you the right_?!” the elf demands again. “Get _off_ me!”

“Fenris, stop!” Varric pleads. “She wouldn’t want this! Look at yourself! Look at what you’re doing!”

“She was _everything_! _How dare you_?!”

“It’s not her fault—Fenris—”

Varric gets pushed back, falling to the ground, and the elf lunges forward, only to be stopped by Blackwall, who grabs his hand. Several soldiers stand around me, their blades pointing at the elf. Solas’ hands are tight on my arms as he keeps me behind himself. Leliana glances around, nudging her head at one of the agents near us. He nods and moves forward, replacing his blade with a bow that he draws but doesn't fire.

Blackwall shouts suddenly, jerking back. His armor is melted around his fingers, the skin red beneath the gauntlet.

“_Answer me_!” the elf roars, jerking forward a step. Cullen kicks the back of his leg, and the elf lands on one knee, glaring at me as he wrestles against the others.

“Don’t touch the lyrium!” Varric shouts. “Don’t touch him!”

“What’s goin’ on here?” Bull demands, entering with his war hammer. Krem flanks him, his sword drawn. “You okay, boss?” Bulls calls, locating me.

I nod quickly, gripping Solas’ arm. Fenris roars in anger, sagging against the ground. His tattoos flare brightly and then fade as two more Inquisition soldiers grab his arms, all of them struggling to hold him.

“Ease, easy,” Varric shouts. “Come on—Cullen, tell them to stand down.”

“He tried to kill the Inquisitor,” Cullen scoffs.

“_Please_, Cullen, come on!”

“Cuff him. He’ll be tried and executed as a—”

“_NO_!” Varric exclaims. “Get off him! He just lost his—stop, _please_! Stop!”

“Let him go,” I say loudly, my voice echoing back to me more boldly than I feel.

I move a hand to Solas, squeezing past him.

“Suledin,” he warns, trying to hold me back.

“It’s alright,” I say.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana adds, her tone a warning.

I move past her too, not missing the glance she cuts to her agent. “Lower the bow,” I order, looking at him. He glances at Leliana before pulling it down.

Solas comes with me as I move through the hall.

“I said let him go,” I repeat, looking at the soldiers.

They hesitate and then release Fenris, stepping back. He heaves against the stone floor, his armor scraping against the rock as he bends over.

“What am I supposed to do?” he cries quietly.

Varric looks at me, his expression tortured. “Thank you, Suledin,” he breathes.

“Is-is he alright?” I whisper.

“I’ll get him out of here,” Varric says instead of answering. “Thank you.”

“What am I supposed to do without her? I don’t—I can’t…”

My vision floods, and I turn away. “Let him go,” I say again to Cullen hoarsely. I move away from him and Leliana, passing Blackwall and Bull and Josephine. “Everyone, as you were!” I call, my voice breaking. “As you were.”

I reach the door to my tower, closing it quickly. I press against the wall, sliding down to the ground. I hold my hands up to my eyes, sobbing quietly as the guilt wrings me, tightening my chest. Solas comes through the door, closing it again. He kneels, pulling me to him. I fall against his shoulder, sobbing into my hands, gasping as I struggle to regain control. Fenris’ words echo through me unforgivingly until they’re the only things I hear.


	35. Trials and Errors

“How does it feel?" Dagna murmurs, her tone carefully reserved.

I try to show the same restraint, despite the excitement bubbling in my chest. “It feels good,” I nod, trying to be cool. I flex my fingers, testing the way the glove conforms to my hand, hugging it while offering plenty of versatility in all the right places. “It feels like a second skin,” I add, unable to resist the grin.

“Oh my, I’m so excited,” Dagna pants. “Okay. Okay. Try—try a spell.”

I look at Solas uncertainly.

“It’s alright, vhenan,” he murmurs.

I glance at Dorian.

“I won’t let you burn down Skyhold,” he promises with a smirk.

One more look at Cassandra.

“I’m ready,” she assures me, her shield angled at me professionally.

“You’ll turn me off if I get too hot?” I check.

She rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Not how I would have worded it, but yes.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “Here goes…nothing…”

“What are you trying first?” Dorian asks quickly. “I want to be prepared for the hit,” he adds with a wink.

I laugh nervously. “Ice.”

“Alright, good.”

I hold my left hand out, rubbing my fingers together nervously. I take a breath, releasing it deliberately slowly. I breathe the words with it. Magic flows through me evenly, and I smile, breathing more quickly in excitement. An ice dagger forms in my hand, and I stare at it, relief surging through me so powerfully that I almost drop the ice. I grin at Solas, my eyes wide as I look back down at the dagger. I play with it, as if testing its weight, and then I throw it at the practice dummy, watching it lodge deep into the fabric.

I turn to Dagna, beaming, and she jumps excitedly. “Oh my! Oh my! It’s working! It’s _working_!” she celebrates.

I take a breath, giddily shaking as I conjure two more ice daggers, letting them form elegantly. I grin again, my heart pounding.

“Mythal—Dagna, you—you’re—you are _brilliant_!” I exclaim.

“Solas helped a lot! Like—_so much_! But keep testing it out! This is not the first attempt, but I think I worked out all the bugs! Let’s give it all a run through!”

I nod quickly. I throw the ice daggers to the dummy, watching them land solidly.

“By the way, does your hand hurt?” Dagna wonders.

“No,” I beam. “It—it feels great!”

“Oh my—I’m so excited. Okay, do more magic stuff!”

“Which one next?” Dorian asks.

“Electricity,” I decide. My specialty.

“Oh good. My favorite. I do _so _love getting zapped.”

I grin at him crookedly, my breaths fleeing me in excited bursts. “Okay…okay, here we go.”

I tighten my fist, breathing out the familiar words. I open my palm to reveal a small bolt of electricity. It flares and licks at my glove, wild but controlled—the way it’s supposed to be—the way it’s supposed to feel. I breathe in quickly, excitement bursting through me.

“Dagna!” I exclaim, laughing. “It’s working! It’s working!” I release the electricity, calling upon a slightly larger bolt. It flares and flickers, but it doesn’t shift or change. I balance it on my hand, tossing it back and forth between both hands, feeling magic flow through me naturally, grinning like an idiot. I play with it a minute before tossing it to the dummy. It electrocutes the fabric, smoke rising from the wooden stake behind it as I beam even wider. “It feels so fucking good,” I gasp. “One more,” I murmur.

I conjure a larger bolt, this one shuddering and reaching out for purchase, raising the hair along my neck and arms. I keep it contained, watching it dance.

“Well done, vhenan,” Solas murmurs, his voice pleased.

I grin so widely it hurts. “Holy _shit_!” I squeal. “It’s working! Dagna, you are—you are getting a huge raise!”

Dagna laughs loudly. “I’m not sure the Inquisition can afford one! You’re already paying me a lot. Like—a _lot. _Like—_so _much.”

“Then pick something else, and I’ll do my best to get it. This is—amazing!”

I play with the lightning, stretching it before I release it. It cracks loudly against the stone—music to my ears.

“Fire next?” Dorian checks.

“Fire next,” I grin. “This is exceptional, Dagna. Thank you so much.”

I shift my weight, planting my feet. I breathe out excitedly, shaky with the thrill. I curl my hand into a fist, breathing the word out steadily as I release my fingers.

I know something’s wrong the second I finish the spell.

Magic jerks through me—false and wrong. Flames lick down my arm, and I scream, the fire blazing up my arm, blistering and scarring my skin. The flame I meant to conjure bursts into an inferno, climbing up my skin and out, extending like a cyclone, lashing out wildly and uncontrollably. Dorian thrusts his hand out, angling the flames up when they shoot out towards Solas and Dagna, controlling the storm when I cannot.

“Cassandra!” I scream, panic seizing me at the pain.

In in instant, my world grows unclear. Magic is yanked out of me, and the storm cuts off immediately, burning up into the air. I feel drained and dry, gasping as my vision blurs and color ebbs from my sight. I stagger forward, landing hard on my knees.

Solas falls next to me as I gasp for air, feeling choked and hot and suffocated, the world closing in on me. “That is enough, Seeker,” he commands, ripping the glove off my hand. He murmurs quickly, healing the skin on my arm as I stare at the ground.

The force squeezing my throat releases, and I drag air through my lungs raggedly.

“Inquisitor, I—are you alright?” Cassandra gasps, moving closer.

“She will be,” Solas replies, moving a hand to my back. “Breathe, vhenan. It’s alright.”

“Does it—hurt? What does it—feel like?”

I struggle for air, so I know she can’t be talking to me.

“It is as though you are drawing upon the world around us,” Solas replies, moving his hands further up my arm to where the fire reached. “Mages draw forth the essence of the Fade and use that essence to shape reality.”

“And…our powers drive it back, making this world harder to affect?”

“In a manner of speaking. You…reinforce reality so it is less…mutable. The Fade has nowhere to gain a foothold, and the magic disperses. It is an unpleasant feeling.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Asphyxiation is a close approximation.”

“Inquisitor, I’m—sorry.”

I shake my head, my breath coming back to me.

“I don’t understand,” Dagna murmurs, crestfallen. She picks up the glove tenderly. “It should have worked.”

“We will try again,” Solas says. “You are close, Dagna. Do not give up hope.”

“I’m so sorry, Inquisitor.”

“Are you alright, Sul?” Dorian murmurs, kneeling on my other side.

I nod, gasping a little. Solas heals the worst of the burns quickly, working on the rest diligently, and I slowly relax. The color remains muted in my eyes. I rub them with my right hand, disappointment weighing so heavily on me that my eyes flood. I pretend to keep rubbing them to hide the foolish reaction.

“I’ll…get back to work on this,” Dagna murmurs. “I have to figure out what went wrong...”

“Thank you, Dagna,” I say, my voice unsteady from the nullification.

She departs silently, and I look up to see her bent over the glove concentratedly as she goes.

“Remind me to stay on your good side, Cassandra,” I murmur, blinking rapidly.

“Was that…your first time being nullified?”

“No,” I admit. “But it doesn’t get easier with practice.”

She gives a wry smile at my tone. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“Thank you for doing that.”

Solas moves his hands. “Are you alright, vhenan?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I reply, standing. I sway a little, catching myself on his arm. “That nullification is no joke. Good work, Cass.”

She gives me a sympathetic look. “I _am _sorry.”

“It needed to be done. I was out of control.”

“Not you,” Solas corrects, taking my hand and fitting my old glove onto it for me. “The glove. We’ll get it working.”

I nod. “I know,” I murmur.

“Don’t worry,” Dorian offers. “That Arcanist you’ve found is good. Scary good. She’ll get it ready, and you’ll be putting the rest of us mages to shame in no time.”

***

“Snow, wait up.”

I glance back and stop as I walk from the quartermaster’s office. I tuck the files he gave me for Josephine under my arm, waiting as Varric jogs up to me.

He stops and rubs the back of his neck, looking up at me. “Look, uh…I just—I wanted to say I’m sorry for—”

I shake my head and wave my hand. “No, don’t—that’s—you—_I’m _the one who’s sorry. It’s my fault, and I—”

“No,” Varric says firmly, looking at me seriously. “No, it isn’t. And Fenris knows that. He’s just…” Varric looks down and then back up at me. “He _is _sorry. He’s just—having a hard time.”

“He doesn’t have anything to be sorry for,” I murmur quietly, finding my feet.

“He wasn't going to…he…” Varric sighs. “He wouldn’t have hurt you. He was just…”

“I understand,” I whisper. Guilt stabs me again.

“I’m sorry he…scared you and stormed in there. Thanks for…not letting Curly…you know. Anyway, that’s…all I had to say. I’ll…see you tomorrow. We’re still going to that ball thing, right?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to if you’d rather—”

“No, no, no, I’m with you. Don’t…wanna miss the opportunity to snob it up with Orlesian nobles, right?”

“Right,” I murmur.

“Right…well…Tomorrow morning then. First thing.”

I bow my head to him, watching him walk away. He passes Solas walking down the stairs, and I frown slightly when I see Cole right on his heels, his expression pleading.

“No!” Solas says irritably.

“But you _like _demons!” Cole splutters, chasing after him.

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is part of why I do not abuse them with _bindings_!”

Cole pulls Solas to a stop. “It isn’t _abuse _if I _ask_!”

“Not always true,” Solas replies, turning to frown at Cole. “Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation _academic_.”

Cole and Solas spot me as I arrive, and I raise my eyebrows at them. “What’s, uh, going on, you two?” I muse lightly.

Cole rushes to me, extending a hand imploringly. “He won’t bind me! He’s a mage, and he likes demons, but he won’t help!”

I frown. “Why would you _want _Solas to bind you?”

“So I’m _safe_,” he cries.

“Cole,” I sigh softly, “I understand you’re scared, but do _not _ask any of the mages to bind you in a _blood magic _ritual. That’s—no. That’s a no. And an order.”

“You don’t _understand_!” Cole exclaims, wringing his hands together. He turns around to walk past Solas a few steps, keeping his back to us. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could! Will! Like the Warden mages! And then…I’m not me anymore…walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.”

“Cole,” I murmur, walking to him, “surely, you understand that it’s extreme for Solas to bind you. What if that takes away the part of you that makes you…_you_?”

Solas nods in agreement, watching Cole.

“_Helping _makes me who I am! I help the hurting! That is what I do, _all _I do—am—me!”

Solas frowns. “And if binding you erases your mind? Your consciousness?”

“_You _wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people. I don’t want to hurt innocent people again.”

I pinch the bridge on my nose. “There has to be some middle ground between ‘do nothing’ and ‘bind Cole with blood magic.’”

“Indeed,” Solas agrees. “I have a suggestion, if Cole is ready to listen.” Cole turns around. “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit, wearing an Amulet of the Unbound, was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well. The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman.”

“Good,” Cole gasps, turning away from us. “They will not take me.” He marches away, heading for the tavern.

I watch him go and then make a face, turning to Solas. “Fun never ends at Skyhold,” I muse.

Solas smiles warmly. “Have I told you I adore your need for levity in all things?”

“Not recently, no.”

He takes my hand, kissing the back of it. “Well, I do.”

I smile, blushing. “I’ll go find Leliana, ask her to send her agents. Do you know where they might start looking?”

“A few,” Solas nods. “I’ll join you.”

“Field trip!”

Solas grins, tightening his fingers on mine.

***

I’m admittedly on my way into Solas’ study again. At least, I am until I hear Dorian and Mother Giselle arguing upstairs. I sigh, smile at Solas, and then take the stairs up quickly.

Mother Giselle is on the verge of a retort when she sees me. “Oh,” she says, hesitating. “I…”

“What’s going on here?” I murmur.

Dorian glances at me. “It _seems _the Revered Mother is concerned about my _undue _influence over you.”

“It _is _just concern,” Mother Giselle says firmly to him before turning to me. “Your Worship, you must know how this looks.”

I frown at her, confused. 

Dorian sighs. “You might need to spell it out, my dear.”

Mother Giselle grimaces at him and looks at me. “This man is of _Tevinter_. His presence at your side…” I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at her, daring her to finish. “The rumors alone…”

“What are these rumors?” I ask lazily.

“I…could not…repeat them, Your Worship.”

“Repeat them?” I muse. “So, you’ve shared them before?”

“I…see…I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.” Mother Giselle bows her head formally at her. She cuts her eyes at Dorian before backing away.

We both watch her go. “Well that’s something,” Dorian sighs.

“Are you alright?” I murmur, turning to him. “She didn’t get to you, did she?”

He smirks. “No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations.”

“You don’t…think she’ll do anything, do you?” I ask.

“Do what?” he wonders with an indifferent shrug. “_Yours _is the good opinion I care about, not hers. I should ask…” He turns to me. “Do the rumors bother you?”

“I wish they wouldn’t disparage you,” I reply quietly. “They don’t know you.”

Dorian smiles. “They know _you _even less than they know _me_. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but…I think of you as a friend, Inquisitor. I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find one here.”

I smile, my cheeks flushing. “I—”

“Don’t speak!” Dorian suddenly says. “I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with…Allow me to say I’ll stand beside you against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor, so long as you’ll have me.”

“Dorian,” I grin, launching myself at him.

A laugh bursts from him, and he hugs me back. “Where is Mother Giselle now? I’d like to see her faint away.”

I giggle against him, tightening my hold on him. “I love you, Dorian.”

“And I you, my strange friend.”

I grin. “I stand beside you, too. Whatever you need.”

He gives a fake shudder. “_Confessions_.”

I laugh, pulling back to look at him. I hug him again, and he chuckles quietly, his hand gentle as he rubs my back.

***

I walk briskly across the walkway to Cullen’s office, a sheaf of papers clutched in my hand. I knock on his door and open it swiftly, stepping inside to see Cullen standing at his desk, hunched over it as he stares at a box. My eyebrows flicker concernedly.

“Cullen?” I murmur. “Are you alright?”

He looks up at me slowly. “Inquisitor...I was..." He glances away. "I was hoping I could talk to you...As leader of the Inquisition, you…” He sighs and stands, resting his hands on his sword pommel. “There’s something I must tell you.”

“You can tell my anything,” I reply, moving closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I…thank you,” he says quietly. He reaches forward to open the box on his desk. “Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well.” I look down at the box to see all the many tools for lyrium consumption, frowning seriously. “Those cut off suffer…some go mad, others die.” Cullen is silent for a moment. “We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here, but…I…no longer take it.”

I look up at him. “You've stopped?” I murmur.

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

My eyes widen. “Wait—Cullen, if this can _kill_ you—”

“It hasn’t yet,” he mumbles, staring at the vials in the box. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” He sighs. “I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” He stands up straight, looking at me seriously. “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to…watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

I step forward, pressing my hand to his arm. “Are you in pain? I can—”

“I can endure it,” he replies simply.

“Cullen—I…I had no idea you were…I’m sorry.”

“You needn't be. I only wished to tell you so that you were aware of the situation.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I murmur. “I respect what you’re doing—very much.”

“I appreciate that, Inquisitor. Should anything happen, I will defer to Cassandra’s judgement.”

“Can I do anything for you? Help in some way?”

He looks down at me, searching my eyes briefly. “No, Inquisitor. Thank you for the offer. I will handle this on my own. I did not wish to worry, only inform, you.”

“Thank you, Cullen. I appreciate you…confiding this in me.”

“In any case, did you need something?”

“I—no, I was just—Josephine asked me to bring these to you, but we can go over them later.”

“No, we can do it now. This is for tomorrow, yes?”

“Yep,” I murmur, handing them to him. “She said we _couldn’t _just burst into the Winter Palace with our men—I’ve no idea why.”

Cullen chuckles, relaxing at my tone. “Have a seat,” he murmurs, closing and moving the box of lyrium almost without thought. “Let’s get started.”

“Fair warning, this may drive you to drink,” I add, plopping down opposite him. “It certainly did for me.”

Cullen laughs again, relaxing even more. He nods, looking at me gratefully before he sits. “Alright, let’s have a look.”

I smile at him. “Yes, sir, Commander, sir.”

He shakes his head with another soft chuckle, opening several of the files. “Alright.” He sighs heavily. “This may take a while.”

"Mm, well, it's a good thing I've cleared my schedule.”

Cullen frowns. "What's this about the dress code?"

It's my turn to smirk. "I was hoping you'd ask. I'm not the only one that will be forced into formal wear." 

Cullen sighs heavily again, resting his chin on his fist as he reads over the papers. "Great. I was already looking forward to the Winter Palace. This just makes it even better." 

"Oh, come now. There are a bunch of reasons this will be fun. There will be food..." I trail off deliberately, and Cullen glances up at me. 

"Is that it? I thought you were listing things?"

"I was. I'm done."

Cullen laughs, flipping through several sheets of paper. "Well, at least one of us is optimistic. This may take a while," he repeats. "I think I'll go get us some dinner. What would you like?"

"Whatever's hot," I shrug. "Oh, but nothing with—" 

"Meat, I know," he smiles. 

I flash my eyebrows at him sarcastically. "Oh, well, well, Commander, who knew you were a kitchen-order savant?"

Cullen rolls his eyes. "It's a well-known fact that you don't eat meat."

I frown. "It is?"

"You're not as mysterious as you think you are."

I scoff. "How dare you, Commander. In my own fortress."

Cullen chuckles. "I'll be right back."

"I'll just be rifling through your desk searching for private missives. Don't mind me."

He snorts and gets up, walking through his office swiftly. I settle back into my chair, sighing heavily when he's gone. Despite my false bravado, I'm fully aware that tomorrow is going to absolutely suck. 


	36. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

“This is ridiculous,” I complain.

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” Josephine replies, offended. “You look wonderful.”

“I _feel _ridiculous.”

“Josie’s right,” Leliana says, her hands working in my hair, affixing some kind of circlet that they didn’t let me see beforehand. That alarms me more. “It is a beautiful outfit, but more importantly, it demonstrates your claim, and it shows that you are the _Inquisitor_.”

I sigh impatiently. “How am I supposed to fight in this?”

Leliana snickers. “You aren’t—not in the way you mean, anyway. Remember what we said. In the Game, the fighting is all done with grace and poise. Do not be fooled, Inquisitor. This is a battlefield, same as any other. Except this one is deadlier than you realize, and every word hides a blade, every eye is watching for weakness.”

“Orlais is such a lovely place,” I mutter. “Wish we could have attended a masquerade sooner.”

Josephine frowns in front of me. She’s been rather serious today.

Cullen moves into the tent, scanning a report. “Everything’s ready, Inquisitor. The others are waiting for you t-to—”

I look up when he stops talking to see him staring at me. His eyes fall quickly, lingering in a couple places before he jerks them back up, his expression caught.

“Ugh, see!” I complain, waving a hand at him. “I look ridiculous. Leliana!”

“No, no!” Cullen says quickly while Leliana snickers. “No, Inquisitor, you look—you, uh—no, _it _looks—uh—”

Leliana's smirk grows. “What the commander is _trying _to say, Inquisitor, is that you’re stunning. You only feel uncomfortable because it’s different.”

Cullen’s face is red as he nods, waving vaguely. His eyes fall again, and he looks away, frowning at something behind me. “Uh—right—yes—your—companions are ready when you are—is all I—came here to say.”

“You look very handsome, Commander,” Josephine says distractedly, pulling at the belt around my waist. “That suits you.”

I nod, glancing at the diplomatic uniform. It hugs his shoulders and waist, accenting his well-earned muscles, and the red color is rather complementary of his skintone. “It does,” I agree, sighing. “At least _you’re _comfortable.”

He laughs. “Trust me, this is confining in all the wrong places.”

Leliana giggles. “Scandalous,” she muses.

Cullen's cheeks flame. “N-no, I didn’t mean—I meant—the shoulders—it’s very—”

“She’s joking, Commander,” Josephine replies.

“I’m leaving now,” Cullen sighs. “We’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready, Inquisitor.” He glances at me again, his eyes falling before he turns around quickly and departs, the back of his neck red beneath his collar.

I sigh heavily at that, worried about how absurd I look. Leliana comes around to face me, her eyes scanning something on my forehead. “What is this?” I demand, pointing to my head.

“All in good time,” she murmurs, stopping me when I try to reach up and feel it.

“Well done, Leliana,” Josephine gasps, stepping back. Her gaze trails over me, checking to make sure everything is in place. 

I roll my eyes. “What is even the purpose of all this?” I ask.

“We need to show them that the Inquisition is not some militaristic force,” Leliana replies, scanning me just as closely. “We can play the Game just as well as the rest of them. Your appearance has just as much to do with that as your words and actions.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Where’s my mask?”

“No mask.”

“What?”

“We’re going in without them.”

“_What_? It’s a _masquerade_! Everyone’s—”

“Exactly. Everyone—everyone else. Orlesian masks serve the purpose of hiding one’s true face, of concealing their motivations, their reactions, their truths. We are going in without masks, because we have nothing to hide and therefore nothing to fear.”

“Uh—” I gesture wildly to my vallaslin.

“Let them _see_ you are Dalish,” Josephine replies. “Let them see that it was a Dalish mage who survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes—a Dalish mage who stepped through the Fade—a Dalish mage who faced Corypheus and lived. Let them know that it was a Dalish mage who led the Inquisition to Skyhold, who rescued the mages from a Tevinter magister, who stole Corypheus’ demon army out from under him and freed the Grey Wardens.”

“You underestimate your accomplishments, Inquisitor,” Leliana says. “They do not.”

I sigh and reach for my gloves. “Wait, where—”

“That’s the other thing, Inquisitor. Tonight, no gloves.”

“Why are you doing this to me,” I groan.

Leliana smirks. “They need to see your hand glow. You have no idea how inspirational and persuasive it is—or how intimidating. Now, stop complaining and _look_.”

She turns me sharply, and I huff out a sigh, hesitating when I see my reflection in the long mirror.

Leliana arranged my snowy hair, gathering it up into a single thick braid that starts high on my head and falls down to the middle of my back. I part my lips when I see the circlet placed across my forehead. I recognize it as being similar to the one Keeper Deshanna wore to Arlathvhen years and years ago. Mine is woven silver, starkly contrasting against my dark skin. Its thin arms intertwine and dance around each other, leading gracefully to a pair of twin halla that throw their heads back, each with a hoof lifted regally. Between them, a brilliant emerald sits, matching the color of my eyes and, coincidentally, the Anchor. My white vallaslin stands out proudly against my skin, twin branches that curve under my eyes and fan across my cheekbones until they disappear in my white hair. Josephine lined my eyelids thickly with dark black kohl that extends past my eyes, making them appear larger, accenting and highlighting the light color even more. My lips have been painted, too, colored a darker, richer brown than usual with a small hint of plum.

I hardly recognize myself, taken aback by Leliana and Josephine’s skill. 

A necklace is draped across my throat, silver chains winding around my neck several times as they drape gracefully to my collarbone, revealing another emerald. I’m overwhelmed and awed to see the Dalish robes Josephine somehow managed to acquire. They, too, look like that would don a keeper.

The high collar is an earthy green with a swirling, rich brown pattern. The collar hugs my neck, but it opens widely over my chest to reveal the necklace and no small amount of cleavage. I frown slightly, not _overly _pleased with that, but I suppose nothing can be perfect. The robes gather in bunches around my breasts, delving deep between them. A thin silver chain connects the left and right side of the collar, draping across my chest below the necklace. A light, leather binding winds around my waist, accenting my hips, revealing curves I didn’t even realize I had. A green sash matching the color of the robes is wound around that tightly, with, lastly, a brown belt decoratively surrounding that. A large, silver ring rests against my stomach, matching the rest perfectly. The robes fall to my knees, layers elegantly designed and tapered to reveal my dark brown leggings which are tucked into the refined silver footwear. They hug my legs securely, running down to my feet to reveal my toes and heel in the traditional elven manner.

The sleeves of the robes fall just past my elbows, silver sashes tying them gently. A Dalish bracelet adorns my right wrist. A silver ring connects the bracelet to my hand with several chains, and the bracer-like edge raises halfway up my forearm, stopping with an arch against my skin. My left hand remains free, its only adornment the faint green glow. An elegant, formal cape drapes from my right shoulder, covering my arm and half my back in a refined, ancient way.

Against my thigh, I feel the dagger Leliana and Josephine both agreed I should wear for precaution. I hesitate, admiring myself for a vain moment, blinking in surprise. Josephine’s appreciation and consideration for my Dalish heritage is apparent, and I feel a swell of emotion rush through me. I realize with a startling jolt that I love these robes, and her for finding them. 

I feel...powerful. 

“Josie,” I breathe. “I eat my words.”

Josephine beams. “Oh, I’m so glad you like it. I conferred with many Dalish and Orlesian tailors. They pulled samples and colors and fabrics, and I did my best with the measurements, which…appear to be exactly right,” she says, pleased with herself. “We went through histories of your people to find styles worn by your keepers throughout the ages, to the earliest records. There is a small bit of every age. It was…difficult to research, as I’m sure you can imagine, but I think the result was well worth the time.” 

“This is…” I shake my head. “Holy shit.” I watch my lips form the words, thicker than I really realized. I suppose I’ve never spent much time looking at myself, now that I think about it. It’s odd to see myself now. I turn around, seeing the cape fall regally down my right side. The robes hug my waist, falling as elegantly from behind as they do from the front. I turn around again, shifting the material at my chest, pulling at it a little.

At this, Josephine grimaces. “You were far more...endowed than I thought, given your usual clothes. _Those _measurements appear to be a little off. Forgive me, my lady Inquisitor.”

“Will it be a…problem in the court?” I wonder.

“Oh no,” she assures me. “Not at all; in fact, it is very flattering. I suspect you will find many eyes upon you tonight.”

“It’s so…wonderful, Josephine,” I say, meaning the whole ensemble. “Thank you for the thought you put into this.”

“I’m so happy you like it.”

“Leliana, the circlet—where did you find it?”

“Josie discovered it. She _persuaded_ the owner that it belonged with its people.”

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s—wonderful.”

Josephine beams. “Are you ready?”

“Shit,” I sigh. “Forgot about the _reason _I’m wearing all this.”

“Now, a couple things…” Josephine turns serious again, and I look at her. “The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread. The empress fears our presence could sever it. The grand duke is only too happy to have us as his guests, so our invitation comes from him. Whether we act as his allies or upset the balance of power, he gains an opportunity…if not a clear advantage. He will likely find you when you arrive. The Inquisition soldiers will escort you through to the courtyard.”

“Got it,” I murmur.

“And, Inquisitor,” Josephine adds uncertainly. “Just…remember, this is Orlais. The nobles here may be…unkind towards you at first, because you are…”

“Dalish,” I finish. “I know. Trust me, Josie, I can handle it. I’m not worried about a few knife-ear comments.”

Josephine winces and nods. “Cullen, Leliana, and I will go on ahead. I’ll wait for you at the entrance to the Winter Palace. Good luck, my lady Inquisitor.”

Leliana and Josephine depart quickly, and I wait a moment, sighing heavily. I look at my left hand, rubbing my fingers together. I don’t like having it uncovered. It makes me feel oddly exposed, more so than the revealing dip in the front of the robes. Bare, my hand feels like it might flare at any moment, ice freezing the Winter Palace or fire scorching its guests.

I breathe out slowly and move from the tent. There are several Inquisition agents waiting. They do a doubletake, staring at me, and I scramble quickly for an authoritative tone.

“We should only be a few hours,” I say, lowering my octave as I go for ‘leader.’ “Keep an eye on the Palace while we’re in there.” Confident authority. That’s me.

“Yes, Your Worship,” one of our agents says quickly.

I move through the Inquisition’s tents that the empress was kind enough to allow us to set up. I spot the others down the path from me, and I have more than enough time to admire everyone's formal wear. Cassandra and Blackwall glance at each other, talking quietly while Dorian and Varric laugh, gesturing to the courtyard. Solas stands apart from them, his expression thoughtful as he gazes at the Winter Palace, his arms folded behind his back casually.

They all look wonderful. Dorian is clad in traditional Tevinter robes, sharp lines that fall to his elegant boots. His colors are black and cream, rich and beautiful, complementing his dark hair and skin tones with stark contrasts. A silver snake embroidered into his robes winds around and over his right shoulder, a bold statement.

Varric is clad in a diplomatic uniform, the colors red and gold and brown, similar to the clothes he normally prefers. His collar is buttoned high and replacing his usual worn leather gloves are a pair of white satin ones. His boots have also been exchanged for thick, shiny dress shoes.

Cassandra looks unhappy in her uniform. She wears a long, black, tightly fitting tunic that leads into equally dark leggings that disappear behind tall boots. The braid in her hair has been taken down. Rather than crown her head as usual, it falls as a simple, thin braid down the back of her neck to her waist, which I only see when she turns around to gesture at something. The rest of her short hair is smoothed down. She rests her hands impatiently on her hips, rolling her eyes at something Blackwall says.

He is dressed handsomely, his dark blue tunic buttoned high and complementing his eyes. His long black hair has been slicked back, his beard brushed and tamed, rendering him almost unrecognizable—I suppose as unrecognizable as me, now that I think about it. His gloves are black and thick, his boots clean and sturdy.

It is Solas, however, who steals my breath and makes me hesitate mid-step. He is always regal, but this is different. He looks like our depictions of ancient elven kings, even gods, with his posture and attire. He wears a long, dark tunic that fits him snugly, hugging every curve and line in his arms and shoulders. It falls open to his knees in an ancient elven way—High Keeper robes are similar, but these are far more refined, far more elegant. Its black fabric contrasts beautifully with his skin, and swirling within it, similar to my own robes, is an intricately crafted pattern of gold stitching. Beneath the open tunic, he wears a thin, simple white shirt, its collar buttoned high. His wolf necklace falls against his chest as usual, contrasting with the brightness of the white behind it. His leggings are also black, and they slip into simple yet elegant footwear that is a dark, rich brown.

I stare at him as I walk forward again. Elvhen—not Dalish or city elf or mere nomad. He is purely, strongly, confidently, elegantly _Elvhen_.

I realize my eyes are fixed on him in awe—not just because of his clothes today, but because of the sudden realization that _that _is what he has always been. Elvhen, not elven—ancient, not like me. He is…_more_.

“…almost did not recognize you without the chest hair,” Cassandra grumbles to Varric, sore from something he must have just said.

“Don’t worry, Seeker. It’ll be back in all its glory tomorrow.”

She makes a disgusted noise, rolling her eyes with a heavy sigh before my approach draws their attention.

“Maker’s _balls_, Snow!” Varric suddenly exclaims.

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra gasps in astonishment.

“Inquisitor?” Blackwall repeats in equal surprise, his eyes falling.

“Holy Maker, Sul,” Dorian grins. “You are _ravishing_, my dear.”

Solas looks at me, his eyes catching and trailing down my robes, hesitating in places that make heat climb up my cheeks giddily. His lips pull into a smile as he admires me, his eyes meeting mine adoringly. “You are exquisite, vhenan, as always.”

My cheeks flame, and I look down with a sheepish smile.

“Is this guy smooth or what?” Varric chuckles.

Solas offers his arm as I approach, and I accept it, hugging it with another blush.

“Inquisitor, you look…” Cassandra hesitates, as if she regrets beginning the sentence. “Very nice,” she finishes.

Varric laughs. “More just nice, Seeker. Use your words. She's just a person.”

Cassandra offers her signature sound, rolling her eyes impatiently. 

I feel Blackwall’s eyes on me, and I glance at him. He looks up suddenly, fascinated with the Inquisition tent behind me. I smirk at that.

“Well, don’t we all look dashing,” I muse as we walk forward to the Palace.

“I _always _look dashing,” Dorian replies quickly.

I roll my eyes. “True.” I steal another look at Solas, fighting the sudden, insane urge to kiss him. He meets my eyes with a warm smile. His gaze falls to my lips, as if reading my thoughts, and that almost does me in. His eyes flicker up to the circlet, admiring it for a moment. 

“Inquisitor, are you ready?” an Inquisition soldier calls near the gates.

“Yes,” I nod.

Eight men line up around us, escorting us through the elaborately-carved silver gates. Cassandra and Blackwall go first, then Dorian and Varric, and finally Solas and me.

“Here’s hoping I don’t trip,” I mumble, more to myself.

Solas grins, his expression beautifully amused. I find his eyes, feeling more at ease before I look ahead again.

“Thank you for being here,” I say quietly.

“Of course,” he murmurs smoothly. “You are radiant, vhenan,” he adds more softly.

I grin and blush deeply. “_You _are,” I argue, gesturing to him.

His smile is warm, his eyes honeyed as he admires me for a moment. He looks ahead again, bringing his hand over mine as I cling to his arm.

The soldiers walk us through the gates and then stop, turning to face us. They cross their arms over their chests respectfully, bowing their heads.

Solas smiles at me sweetly as I release his arm, and I return it as he and the others move ahead of me. Several nobles swivel, staring at me openly. I hold my head up high, careful to keep my expression neutral. My hand glows in the evening courtyard as I spot an elegantly dressed Orlesian walk over to me, his mask gold and thick, hiding all but his eyes and jaw. Gaspard. The man needs no introduction, and he doesn't bother with one.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Lavellan,” he says loudly, offering a lavish bow. He turns, offering his arm, and I rest my hand on it politely. Josephine told me he would do this and advised me to play along—for now. “Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was a brilliant move." Gaspard glances at me. "Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

“Remind me,” I muse, “which one is that again?”

Gaspard offers a loud, rumbling laugh. “Well played. I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me, I’ll help you.” He lowers his voice. “Now, are you prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper, my lady? They will be telling stories of this night into the next age.”

“I imagine tonight shall be very entertaining, for all involved,” I return disinterestedly, remembering Leliana’s advice for how to react and carry myself. The levity comes easily; it’s my face I have to remember to control.

“I knew we would get alone famously, Inquisitor,” the grand duke nods, stopping. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. This elven woman Briala—I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have fought these ‘ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”

I raise an eyebrow casually. “Tell me there’s more to your suspicion than, ‘the elves were acting dodgy.’”

“That ‘ambassador,’ Briala, used to be a servant of Celene’s. That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up a political mistake. If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it’s that elf. She certainly has reason.” Gaspard sighs. “Be as _discreet _as possible. I _detest _the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains. But we are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?”

“Give me a moment to speak with my advisor,” I reply, gesturing to Josephine by the entrance. “I will see you in there.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he replies, offering another lavish bow before he passes Josephine. 

Whispers surround me. I hold my head up high, donning a mildly amused expression that I maintain as I walk.

“Is that the Inquisitor?” someone whispers loudly.

“An elf _savage_?” someone replies. “Maker forbid!”

Lovely.

I move forward slowly to Josephine. The Winter Palace rises over us like a mountain, but I make an effort not to ogle. Instead, I carefully avoid looking around to give the impression that I either don’t care or have seen better.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine greets formally. “A moment, if you please?” She offers a warm smile to nobles as they pass us before pulling me casually to the side. She steps closer to me and speaks with sudden urgency. “I _must _warn you before you go inside: How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. I fear neither Leliana nor I implicated the severity of an out-of-place action or comment. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, _every _gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

“Don’t they sound delightful,” I murmur. “I’m shocked we haven’t invited the court over to Skyhold for dinner.”

It alarms me that Josephine doesn’t even register or acknowledge my tone, as she so often humors me. “The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must _never _reveal your cards. When you meet the empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were safer staring down Corypheus,” she adds weakly, her tone betraying her anxiety. 

“Well,” I hum, “aren’t you a ray of sunshine this evening?”

“Good,” she nods, clasping her hands. “Maintain that attitude and…everything…will be fine.” I pat her shoulder and move past her, not missing her final breath. “Andraste watch over us all,” she whispers.

We walk into the golden vestibule, and I spot Varric, Cullen, and Cassandra standing together in the corner. Blackwall and Dorian hover near the doors, and Solas waits by himself, his expression almost amused at something. Leliana stands near a wall beside Cullen, her eyes disinterestedly glancing through the crowd. While no part of her indicates this, I know her she is paying far more attention than she appears.

“Seriously,” Varric mumbles to Cullen as I arrive, “did you look at the steps? I think they’re gilded.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cassandra agrees with a mutter. 

“Ah, Inquisitor,” Cullen greets, unfolding his arms. He looks unhappy. “Are you ready to get this over with?”

“Careful, Commander,” Leliana smiles, nodding to a passing woman in a fancy hat. “There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

Cullen offers a long sigh.

“We shouldn’t keep the empress waiting,” I murmur.

“No,” Leliana agrees.

Josephine waves Solas and the others over, and we gather in a loose semi-circle. “Everyone, listen. Quickly—quickly, Varric—shh, pay attention.”

“Sorry, Ruffles.”

“Please listen carefully. When we enter the ballroom, wait by the door. The announcer will call your name. Descend the stairs to the dance floor and walk across to the dais. Stop at the stairs below and wait. Do not walk quickly or stumped-over—walk with pride and grace. Do not make direct eye with the empress. When you reach the stairs, stop and wait. Do _not _bow yet. Just stand there and wait until the Inquisitor arrives. Inquisitor, your name will be called first, but do not leave the stairs until everyone else in your party has been announced. Follow us when the rest of the names have been read to the dais. As soon as you step through the door, find Empress Celene and make eye contact with her. Do not look away. Do not fidget. Keep your eyes trained on her without backing down; I cannot stress this enough. Join the rest of us at the dais until she either dismisses or acknowledges you. In either case, everyone bow at the waist. Keep your right hand in front and move your left hand behind your back, like this.” She demonstrates swiftly. “Everyone _but _you,” she says, looking at me. “You do not bow.”

“Why?” I wonder. “Won’t she view that as an insult?”

“Undoubtedly,” Josephine grimaces. “But the Inquisition cannot be seen offering allegiance to the Orlesian throne. You may nod, but do not bow.”

“Relax, Josie,” Leliana murmurs.

“Acts like we’re never been announced in court before,” Dorian says with a roll of his eyes.

“Speak for yourself, Sparkles,” Varric mumbles.

“Please—everyone…best behavior,” Josephine adds.

“She’s talkin’ to you, Seeker.”

“Shut up, dwarf.”

“Please, everyone,” Josephine says again.

“Let’s go,” Leliana replies.

I follow her and the others, cutting a glance at Solas. He smiles at me warmly, and I relax a little, returning it. We walk into the ballroom, and I make an effort to not react to the hundreds of people lining the walls, whispering and chatting. As the doors close behind us, the room falls silent. Even the music stops. I hold my head high, ignoring the impulse to find Solas again. I find Empress Celene across the room. Her back is to us, revealing a long, silky blue gown. The back of it is held up by a large golden fan, lifting the shoulders of the dress powerfully. The rest of the fan spreads around her head like a crown or a sunburst, hiding her elegantly braided white-blonde hair. The announcer bows before me and waves us forward, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm to the staircase. The empress turns around, looking down at us as she rests her hands against the railing. Behind her silver mask, the empress' pale eyes watch me with interest. I return the look evenly, ignoring the urge to blink or look away.

“And now presenting,” the announcer calls, his voice reverberating off the walls powerfully, “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.” Gaspard bows lavishly—a bit sarcastically—and walks down the steps slowly and across the marbled floor. He moves with the impatience and arrogance of a man who has decided this is not worth his time. I watch him peripherally while continuing to gaze at the empress. “Accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the Mage Underground, Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself, sole survivor of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and victor at the battle for Adamant.”

The empress cocks her head at me slightly, her fingers drumming along the railing.

“Accompanying the Inquisitor: Warden Blackwall of Val Chevin, constable of the Grey, bearer of the Silverite Wings of Valor.” Blackwall moves through the crowd, walking down the stairs slowly and carefully. I watch his progress without looking away from the empress. “Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena—”

“Get on with it!” Cassandra snaps.

“Cassandra,” Josephine whispers, horrified.

My lips twitch, and I fight a smile with all my strength.

“Pentaghast,” the announcer finishes. “Fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine.” Cassandra makes her way down the stairs, choosing a quick pace while Blackwall comes to a stop below the dais and folds his hands behind his back. “Renowned author Varric Tethras, head of noble house Tethras, deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild.” Varric moves past me, sighing quietly. “Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.” Dorian pats my arm as he passes, and I fight another smile. “The Lady Inquisitor Lavellan’s elven serving man, Solas.”

Anger flits through me like a dagger. I try—so hard—to fight my reaction, but I feel myself wince in anger at the insult, my expression twitching under Empress Celene’s gaze. She notes it; before I can even compose my face again, Celene’s eyes light up, her fingers stilling on the railing. I keep my right hand hidden behind the cloak, clenching it hard into a fist. Solas moves past me, seemingly unaffected by the insult as he walks across the marbled floor with the grace of a king.

The announce continues, unaware of the mistake I may have just made. “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.” Cullen takes the stairs slowly, striding across the floor smoothly, if uncomfortably. “Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition, and Left Hand of the Divine.” Leliana walks past me confidently, her gait that of a dancer. “And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”

I wait until Josephine is halfway across the ball room floor before I descend. I move slowly and deliberately, keeping my eyes carefully trained on the empress as I grow closer. Whispers echoes in the ballroom, and I make sure to sway my left hand with each step, letting its glow light my path. I stop in the space left for me between Leliana and Josephine.

“Cousin,” Gaspard calls. “My dear sister,” he adds with a bow at the woman beside the empress.

“Grand Duke,” Empress Celene smiles, curtsying elegantly. “We are always honored when your presence graces our courts.”

I suddenly realize why Josephine was so anxious. Leliana informed me of the Game, of course, but she also informed me—sparing no detail—of the empress and grand duke's bloody and violent history, of the betrayal and heartache both parties have inflicted upon one another. The woman above me is a sensational actress. If this is how she treats her biggest enemy…

Gaspard possesses far less grace and poise. “Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene,” he snaps. “We have business to conclude.”

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests,” the empress replies grandly, her smile unfaltering and unsurprised by his curtness.

Gaspard offers a dramatic and sarcastic bow, waving his arms theatrically before he stalks off. I’m careful to keep my eyes on Celene, difficult as it’s becoming.

“Lady Inquisitor,” she smiles, “we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

The duchess offers a deep curtsy. “What an unexpected pleasure,” she muses. “I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor,” she says, nodding and walking away.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” Celene remarks with another radiant smile.

“I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty,” I reply with a smile of my own.

“We have heard _much _of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings. Tell us, how do you find Halamshiral?” she wonders innocently.

A cold feeling spreads through me, and I smile wider. She’s testing me—how do I find the Winter Palace that sits upon a land that once belonged to my people—a land that was stolen from them in a bloody, violent war, the result of an Exalted March that led to my people’s final destruction, enslavement, and weakness.

“I have no words to suffice,” I reply airily. “Halamshiral has many beauties, and I couldn’t do them justice.”

Celene smiles. “Your modesty does you credit,” she murmurs in an affectionate tone, “and speaks well for the Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.” 

“Your Majesty,” I reply. The others bow beside me, but I am careful to not even tilt my head in her direction. She watches me from behind her silver mask, her eyes as unrelenting as mine.

I turn and walk off the dais, following the others up the stairs. They separate quickly as the guests take up their conversations again, the excitement over for now. I glance back to see Empress Celene glide to the balcony behind her and disappear into the night.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs. “A word, when you have a moment.”

With that, she departs, walking elegantly back to the vestibule.

“Well done, Inquisitor,” Josephine commends, coming to stop beside me. She appears relieved. “Very well done. Keep it up, and we may survive the night yet.”

“Josephine!” someone gasps. “Oh, Josephine!” The girl comes bounding up to the ambassador, clasping her hand. “Is this her?”

Josephine sighs. “Inquisitor, please allow me to present to you my younger sister, Yvette Gabriella Montilyet.”

I smile warmly. “Delighted to meet you, Lady Montilyet.”

Yvette giggles. “Inquisitor, I’ve heard so much about you! But not as much as I want,” she complains, casting a playful glare at her sister. “Josephine _writes_, but she never _tells _me anything. Is it true rebel mages in Redcliffe were performing blood rites and orgies before you stopped them?”

I choke on my laugh, and Josephine gapes at her sister. “Where did you _hear _such nonsense?” she wonders.

“Everyone in Antiva says so! Is it true?”

“_No_!” Josephine exclaims.

“Of course it’s true,” I reply with a smirk. “Every word of it. Especially the parts where everyone was nude.”

Yvette offers a delighted laugh as Josephine groans. “I _knew _it!” the younger sister squeals.

I grin at her, stepping closer. “Josephine,” I murmur quietly. “Who do you think the Inquisition should support in the negotiations, if it comes to it?”

Josephine leans closer to my ear, murmuring so softly that I can barely hear her. Yvette watches unhappily. “Celene has held the thrown successfully for years. I see no profit in ousting her. Gaspard has run military campaigns but never a kingdom. His transition would be…let us say ‘chaotic.’”

I nod and step back. “So, Yvette,” I muse, smiling at her. “This is a rare opportunity for me to hear about what Josephine was like as a girl.”

Yvette gasps excitedly. “Oh yes! Has she told you about when she was ten and—”

“Yvette,” Josephine says quickly. “Stop.”

“_Fine_. What about when we were climbing the cliffs by the—”

“No.”

“She once told the Duke of—”

“_Absolutely _not.”

Yvette huffs, and then the rest bursts out of her in a rush. “She still plays with her doll collection when no one’s looking!”

“_Yvette_!” Josephine smiles at me, laughing weakly. “That is _absurd_—absolutely preposterous.”

I laugh as Yvette snickers. “Thank you, Lady Montilyet,” I grin, winking at Josephine. “I’ll see you both later.” I brush against Josephine’s arm as I move past her.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” she replies, glaring at her sister.

“What! She asked!” Yvette says defensively.

"Oh, Inquisitor!" Josephine calls. I turn around quickly. "There was...may I have a few moments of your time? There are some...people I should introduce you to. It will be rude if we wait." 

"Of course, ambassador," I reply formally, though internally I'm screaming. This was the part I was dreading. 

Josephine apologizes to her sister and leads me through the crowd, stopping at more than a dozen people along the way. I smile widely and laugh at all the right places, pleasing Josephine to no end. I feel every minute stutter by me painfully, and I find myself glancing out the lavish windows more than once to check the time. Two hours pass listening to a blend of faceless lords and ladies complain and tease and question us. Josephine appears perfectly at ease, finessing her way through the conversations, but I'm less sure about myself, careful and mindful of my every reaction and every comment. It's exhausting. When she finally dismisses me, two and a half hours after arriving at the Winter Palace, I'm drained, dehydrated, and starving. I imagine Leliana is more than a little annoyed with me, but each time I mentioned her name, Josephine assured me that Leliana knew this had to happen first. 

Josephine returns us to her sister, having made a full circle through the ballroom, and I talk with the two of them for a few minutes more before I depart.

I make a few feet through all the nobles before I see Dorian standing against the wall, drinking a rich red wine in an elegant, gold-tipped glass. Relief floods me at the familiar face, and I move over to him, taking a break from the crowd.

“This is all so familiar,” Dorian sighs. “I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

I snicker quietly. “What if she _were _here? What would happen?”

“You would be short a mage after he’s dragged out by his earlobe.”

A laugh bursts out of me, and Dorian grins. “I’ll admit to having some trouble imagining that.”

“Picture me a young boy of five years, then. She certainly always has.”

I grin at him affectionately. “Oh, Dorian. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“I’ve a few things in mind,” he teases.

I smirk and roll my eyes. “How’s the wine?”

“Bitter and disgusting. I love it. Here try some.”

“After _that _summation?”

“Come on, try some.”

I sigh and take the glass. I take a small sip, recoiling. “Oh my gods,” I whimper, swallowing it with difficulty. I wipe my lipstick off the glass and hand it back. “That is horrible.”

“Right? Southern wine.”

I shake my head. “Have you seen anything—noteworthy?”

“Other than an overabundance of lavender perfume? No, nothing extraordinary.”

“Good. Keep your eyes peeled—”

“And my ears bent, I know. I’m looking out for magic as well. You know us Tevinters. We can’t cross a room without casting a spell twice.”

I laugh. “Excellent, and—stay out of trouble.”

He scoffs. “To _whom _are you speaking? I’m offended.”

“Try not to get drunk while we’re here.”

Dorian shakes his head, sighing. “You ask so much of me.”

I grin and blend with the crowd again. I mean to keeping walking through to the vestibule, but a laugh bubbles in my chest when I see Cullen standing uncomfortably against the wall. He folds his hands, offering a loose smile to a woman—one of many crowding around him.

“…please, you are so _handsome _when you smile,” one of them goads him.

“Inquisitor!” he says quickly, pushing off the wall. “Did you need something?”

A devious part of me wants to torture him and say no, but mercy wins out. “Yes, actually. Do you have a moment?”

“Maker, yes,” he mumbles. “Excuse me…ladies.”

They grumble unhappily as he offers his arm to me and escorts me away.

“Thank you,” he sighs.

“My, my, Commander Cullen,” I grin. “Who’d’a thought—”

“_Don’t _start,” he says, cutting me a sideways glance. “This is all your fault.”

“_My _fault?” I laugh.

“Yes, _you _brought me here.”

“Who _are _they all anyway?” I chuckle as we move to another table near the wall.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “They won’t leave me alone.”

“Oh, not enjoying yourself then?”

“Suffice it to say, the headache I’m developing is preferable to the company.”

I laugh again, patting his arm across the table. “Poor Cullen. Have you seen anything?”

“Nothing that stands out. I doubt there’s a single person here _without _ulterior motives.”

I sigh theatrically. “Commander Cullen—leader on the battlefield, fearless in the dace of danger—”

“I _will _leave.”

I grin widely, noticing his eyes catch on mine. “Enjoy your evening, _Commander_,” I tease. “If you need a desperate escape, feel free to throw me under the wagon.”

He smirks. “Careful what you wish for.”

I laugh again, looking around. “I’m gonna go find Leliana. You alright here?”

“Maker, I hope so.”

I smile at him again and walk away. I make it a few steps before I turn back to ask him a question, only to realize he’s still watching me. “Are you sure you're alright here?” I ask concernedly, coming closer again. He's not usually this uncomfortable. 

“Oh, yes,” he says quickly, reddening slightly as he looks away. “Of course. I was just going to say—good luck. Here. With the—nobles.”

I laugh. “Thank you. A wise warning. You be careful, too, with all the eligible dowagers,” I smirk.

He rolls his eyes. “Thank you for that.”

I grin one last time and blend with the crowd.

I nod and smile and ignore the whispered insults and thinly veiled criticisms in their petty greetings, things like, _I had no idea the Dalish had such robes _or _imagine what your clan would think, seeing you all dressed up here at the Winter Palace _or _elf__, where’s my—oh, Inquisitor, forgive me._

The last kind is my favorite.

I nod politely at the guard by the door when he opens it for me, and I move into the vestibule. After the continuous waterfall of voices and loud music, the outer room is a relief. 

“Good,” Leliana murmurs, her lips barely moving as she steps to my side, guiding us into a slow stroll. “I was hoping I would catch you. What did the duke say?”

I smile warmly at a woman as she passes close by, waiting to answer. “He points the finger at Ambassador Briala.”

“She _is _up to something, but she can’t be our focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side.” Leliana leads us to a chaise lounge, perching delicately on the end. I join her. “Express Celene is fascinated with mysticism—foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead—that sort of rubbish. She has an ‘occult advisor,’ an apostate who charmed the empress and key members of the court—as if by magic. I’ve had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.”

I look at Leliana, careful to keep my expression neutral. “How can Celene openly keep an apostate in the Imperial Court?”

“The Court has always had an official position for a mage. Before now, it was little better than a court jester.”

“Orlais—charming as ever.”

“Vivienne was the first to turn that appointment into a source of real political power.”

“Of course she was,” I sigh.

“When the Circles rebelled, technically every mage became an apostate. The word lost much of its strength.”

“Mm, well, this ‘occult advisor’ sounds exactly like the sort of person we’re looking for.”

“She’s worth investigating at least. Can’t be sure of anything here. Both leads point towards the guest wing. It’s a promising place to start…looking around. Discreetly, of course. I’ll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. I will be the ballroom if you need me.”

Leliana stands and glides gracefully to the massive doors at the end.

Cassandra immediately replaces her, sighing heavily as she sits beside me. “This ball is a waste of time,” she complains. “Like all Orlesian foolishness. Have you found the Venatori collaborator yet?”

“I just spent the last two and a half hours entertaining a myriad of nobles, so no, not yet.”

Cassandra gives another heavy sigh.

“So, just a shot in the dark, but you don’t seem to care much for the ball.”

“Orlesians pretend their petty squabbles are a ‘game,’” she says loudly. “Yes, let us treat murder, corruption, and deceit as a delightful amusement. How wonderful.”

“Cass,” I laugh, “shh, take it down a notch.”

She makes a disgusted noise, but she does lower her voice. “We are here to save Empress Celene, and it galls me. Why does she merit our protection? The empire would be better off without her. Gaspard is the leader Orlais needs in this crisis.”

“_Fenedhis_!” I laugh. “_Shh_, don’t—say shit like that so loud. Gods, Cass.”

“No one hear me,” she mumbles defiantly. “And many of them probably agree.”

“Okay, I’m going to leave before you get us all assassinated for treason or something.”

She scoffs. “You are _hilarious_. We were probably targeted as soon as our names were announced.”

“Fan-tastic,” I muse. “Keep an eye on things. Find me if you see anything.”

“You mean something _beyond _all this grandstanding and idiocy? I will try.”

I head through a wide door beside the couch. A crowd pushes past me, and I step back to avoid them, overhearing two servants in the Hall of Heroes.

“…went into the servants’ quarters, and I haven’t seen them since.”

“There’s been a lot of activity from the duke’s people. I’ll send another agent.”

“I don’t—”

Their conversation is cut short when a nobleman strides through the room, ordering them to fetch a broom for a vase someone knocked over.

I bite my tongue moving through the hall to the outer wing. I sigh in relief when I see Solas. He leans against a statue, looking around with a faintly amused expression. Beside him on a table, is a glass of champagne and a small plate with an array of food on it. My stomach rumbles greedily, and my mouth waters at the sight of mini cakes, but I do my best to remain civilized. 

“Vhenan,” he greets warmly when he sees me. 

I smile at him in surprise, moving to stand at his side. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events,” he confides with a smirk. I try to ignore the thrill that rushes through me. Keep it together, idiot. 

“You’re comfortable here?” I reply, my fingers itching to reach out for his. I barely manage to contain myself by folding my hands together. 

“I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade,” he murmurs silkily. “The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change.”

“Speaking of,” I grin, pointedly scanning his clothes. I linger in several places, and he chuckles under the close inspection. “Where did you get this?”

“Oh, it was just something I had lying around,” he jokes.

I laugh. “In case we ever found ourselves at a Grand Masquerade?”

“One never knows where the night will take them.”

I grin and then sigh. “Have—how have the nobles treated you?”

“The Orlesians do not quite know what to make of me. I have kept to myself, for fear of giving them some purchase to cling to. The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants have been happy to refill my glass. Speaking of which, here, try this.”

He lifts his glass, handing it to me. I grin and take a sip, groaning quietly. “Gods, that’s good. Can I—” He nods, and I take another sip. I glance at his plate.

“Please,” he smiles. “I saved them for you.”

“Thank you. I've been in the ballroom this whole time; I thought I might starve.” I look through the cakes, selecting a small pink one with strawberry shavings and white cream. Solas watches me, amused, as I glance around and then pop it in my mouth in one bite. I close my eyes, leaning my head back. “_Gods_,” I moan, my expression collapsing. “That’s so _good_.”

Solas laughs softly. “Yes, I thought you might enjoy that one.” 

“Fenedhis, how do they _do _that,” I breathe, swallowing and sighing. I pick up a flat, long cracker topped with yellow cheese and some sort of frilly, decorative leaf. I shrug and eat the whole thing, groaning again. “Gods...By the way, have you seen anything?” I ask, taking another sip of his champagne.

“No, sadly,” he sighs. “I do not have the look of one of the elven servants, or I might well be invisible. I wonder how masked men live their lives without ever seeing that servants have an entire society of their own. If you want to find something useful, I would pay attention to what the servants do.”

I nod seriously. “Excellent. Great advice. Now. The most important matter of the evening—do you have any interest in dancing?”

“A great deal,” he smiles. “Although, dancing with an elven apostate would win you few favors with the court.”

“Ah, screw ‘em.”

He chuckles. “Perhaps once our business here is done?”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I hope you do.”

I weaken slightly, my fingers reaching halfway to him. I sigh heavily. “Gah, I really want to kiss you. Okay, I need to leave. I’m walking away.” I take a last sip of his champagne and hand the glass back. Solas grins at me, his eyes darkening a little as he chuckles. I sigh heavily, amusing him further, and then turn around before I give into temptation. Something about not being _allowed _to touch him makes a heat burn low in my stomach, and I think it would probably be best if I gave him a wide berth for tonight. Even as I think it, I know I won't, and that makes me sigh again. 

I make my way through the room, heading towards the guest wing at the end. As I arrive, though, I see it blocked off, two guards standing in the way.

“Sorry, my lady,” one of them calls kindly. “The guest wing of under repair for tonight.”

I nod and smile formally, turning around—and nearly running into a man with a shining gold mask.

“Oh, pardon me," he says, glancing up. A flicker of recognition changes his posture. "Oh...Well, well. The Inquisitor. Here as a guest of my nephew, no less. How curious.”

I hum with interest. “I wasn’t aware you were the grand duke’s uncle.”

The man looks pleased. “He’s my brother’s eldest boy. Always a difficult child, Gaspard. Never listened, never did what he was told. He was raised a prince. All his life, we told him he would be emperor. It was his destiny. His duty. What else should he do with his life, if not fight for his destiny?”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I merely nod, waiting a moment before I change subjects. “Have you noticed anything…odd?”

“My niece Florianne hasn’t spoken to me all evening. That’s not like her.”

“The grand duchess?”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “Perhaps she is busy with the empress. I noticed them together on the balcony earlier.”

“Mm, in _that_ case, it’s alright.”

I smile. “Excuse me. Another time, my lord.”

“Yes, yes,” he nods, walking away.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” someone whispers softly.

I glance over to see an elven servant waving me over discreetly. I move across the room.

“Careful,” she warns, “don’t let them see you.” I turn around and admire the windows across from us. “Good. We just wanted to warn you—”

“Don’t head into the servants’ wing if you value your neck,” her friend says, his voice low. “Not one elf’s gone in there tonight and come out again.”

“Our man was supposed to make a pickup in the garden hours ago. Bastard’s likely dead by—oh, quick, quick, keep moving!”

I walk forward again casually, resisting the urge to frown. Two places to check now. I move through the room back to the Hall of Heroes, spying the servants’ entrance. I walk to it casually, glancing around before I try the handle. Unsurprisingly, it’s locked, and I keep moving nonchalantly.

“Phillipe should have returned hours ago!” someone complains loudly. I realize he’s talking to me. “Dallying with some serving girl while I deal with Gaspard’s vitriol?”

I huff. “Awfully selfish of this _Phillipe_, running off to play and leaving you with all the work,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief. “The nerve!” I glance at the man, worried that was too much.

“I’ve half a mind to inform the dowager. _That _would teach him to shirk his duties to roll with some elven maid. Tonight, of all nights! Leaving me to convey Gaspard’s death threats to the council? Wonderful timing, Phillipe!” The man sighs heavily. “Thank you for listening to me rant. You are too kind, Inquisitor.”

With that, he bows and turns away.

I shrug lightly, figuring that was an easy win. Something catches my eye under on of the statues in the Hall of Heroes, a small silver glint throwing the firelight back at me. I glance back and then stoop over to grab it quickly. I pull out a cylinder seal, looking around again quickly before I open it and unfurl the letter inside.

_Clara—kitchen staff—entered servants’ wing by main stair 1:30_

_ Vernon—undergardener—entered servants’ wing from hall 2:45_

_ Sophie—chamber maid—entered servants’ wing from hall 3:22_

_ Marius—footman—entered servants’ wing by main stair 3:45_

_ Briala, we need immediate support down there. Something’s wrong._

I pocket the scroll, resisting the urge to frown again. That can’t be good.

I push through a pair of doors, finding myself in the garden. I walk through casually, stopped by three women bounding over to me.

“My lady! My lady Inquisitor!” one exclaims.

“May we have a word? It is very important," another smiles. 

“The empress has sent us with a message for you!” the last one nods.

I look between the three of them, nodding and smiling. “I’m always honored to hear from Her Majesty.”

“Oh, _she _is the honored one, Inquisitor!”

“Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor.”

“She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.”

I hum. “A generous offer,” I muse.

“The empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is our best hope for peace in these difficult times!”

“She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance.”

“As soon as Gaspard is out of the way.”

“But we have taken enough of your time!”

“Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor!”

The women curtsy, and I bow my head to them respectfully. As they leave, a small blot on the stone floor catches my eye—blood. I don’t react, but I do look around casually for more, keeping a carefully neutral expression. The tracks subtly lead around the large fountain at the back of the gardens. The blood has obviously been cleaned quickly, leaving behind these barely noticeable patches. Another small drop stains the white lattice by the fountain. I glance up casually, and I sigh when I see the tracks lead to the upper terrace.

Well, shit.

_That _won’t go unnoticed.

I glance back. Far too many people. I'm on my way back to the doors to find someone to help me, but, as luck would have it, Varric strolls through the gardens, chatting casually with a woman. She laughs, hanging on his every word.

I walk over to him, keeping my hands behind my back.

“Snow!” he greets. “Excuse me, my lady,” he adds, bowing to the woman before he walks to me. “Having fun? I always enjoy canapes while surrounded by people who want to kill me.”

“Oh yes. Some might say I’m having a _ball_.”

We fake laugh together, wiping away pretend tears.

“What about you?” I wonder.

“My brother used to throw galas like this in Kirkwall. I always tried to avoid them. I’m not much of a dancer these days.”

“No? How about a storyteller?”

“Mm, consider me intrigued. What do you need?”

I jerk my thumb back to the lattice. “I’m gonna go climb that.”

He looks behind me. “You’re gonna what now?”

“I need you to cause a distraction.”

He opens his mouth a couple times. “Okay. Can I just—_why_?”

“I'm planning my mad escape."

“Hm. Guess I don’t _want _to know. Sure, sure, Snow, I’ll gather the herds. Give me two minutes.”

“Thank you, Varric! I owe you one.”

“It’s my craft. Why let it go to waste?”

I grin at him, moving through the crowd. I glance back when I get to the lattice to see Varric down a whole glass of champagne in one go. He gasps and grimaces upon finishing, wiping his mouth before he clears his throat. 

“Hey! Everyone! I’ve got a story to tell you. Yep, c’mon, goldies, you’re gonna like this one.”

“That’s Varric Tethras!” someone gasps. "The writer!"

“Yep!” Varric replies, waving his hands. “That’s right, gather ‘round, gather ‘round. This is a little story about the Champion of Kirkwall.”

I hesitate, looking down, but it works. Varric starts up a loud story, and the guests in the garden edge closer to him, listening intently. I glance around for any extra eyes and then move to the lattice swiftly. I’m grateful for my robes’ versatility as I climb up the side of the wall quickly. I go smoothly and quietly, rolling over the marbled walkway above, scrambling out of sight. I don’t even both looking to see if I’m noticed. I’m sure someone would’ve said something. Regardless, I’m here now.

I pick up the blood trail easily. It’s far messier up here, drag marks leading clumsily to a large stone door. I creep closer to it, pressing my hand to it. It doesn’t budge. I try again, sighing. That would have been too easy.

I run my fingers across the stone, feeling magic hum against its surface softly. I chew the inside of my cheek, looking at the edges. Sealed shut, held in place by some powerful spell. I step back, catching sight of the illustrations adorning the wall around the door. In one, a man with a wolf's head cowl launches an arrow up into the sky. In another, children emerge from a house, tears streaking their faces.

It hits me like a jolt of electricity, and a warmth spreads through my chest in a quick lash. I grin, my heart hammering when I realize I recognize the images.

I start at the top left, watching the story unfold artfully. The first depicts several adults on their knees, their hands clasped tight before them. A man with a wolf’s cowl covering his head and face looks down at them. In the third panel, the man launches an arrow into the sky, and the villages watch, distraught, as, in the next frame, the man walks away.

I grin. It’s all here.

Night falls in the pictures, and a beast comes to the village. It attacks the villagers, killing all the men and women, and then all the elders and warriors. It arrives at the children, preparing to kill them. At the last second, the arrow falls from the sky, striking and killing the beast. In the morning, the children pray, their hands clasped tight even as tears stream down their cheeks. In the last frame, the man in the wolf’s head cowl watches from afar, his expression hidden.

I run my fingers across the door again in awe. The door must open from the story. Something about it is a password.

“Felassan,” I murmur, waiting. Nope. “The Slow Arrow.” Nope. I sigh, looking down. It must be something hidden within the story. “Think,” I mutter. I look up sharply. There _is _only one piece of dialogue in the story. Perhaps…I press my hand to the door firmly. “‘When did I say that I would save you?’”

The door shifts and releases. I grin widely, pushing it open.

The smile immediately drops off my face.

Bodies are strewn across the room—all of them elven. Notes are scattered around, pieces of parchment soaking up blood thickly. I step into the room carefully, staring in shock. One of the agents clutches a letter in her hand. I reach down, taking it from her gently.

_Celene, _

_ We can discuss this like adults, can’t we? We both know the weapon at Briala’s disposal could not only turn the tide of our war, but every war. The Empire must control it; I do not believe you disagree. She is now a greater threat to Orlais than anything else. If you and I work together, we can wrest control away from her. Do not deceive yourself that she will be open to negotiation or diplomacy. You know her better than anyone—you know that’s not possible. _

_ -G_

I pocket the letter. Great. A mysterious weapon now, too. Wonderful.

A safe rests in the corner of the door, its door ajar. Whoever cracked it took what they wanted, I suppose. I move the door with my foot, peering in. On one of the shelves, I see an elegant locket, a handful of gold, and a knife. I pull the locket out, admiring it. I open to it to see a curl of light blonde hair folded inside carefully. I put the locket back in the safe, step over the bodies, and exit the room, pulling the door closed again. It clicks into place loudly, gold magic sealing it again.

Another trail of blood leads across the marbled terrace to a pair of larger, ornate doors. I walk to it swiftly, seeing it identified as the Grand Library. Six braziers lined with urns stand in the interior of the room. The blood trail is cut off mid-puddle, a definite line between where the blood rests and the smooth marble on the other side. I frown, edging closer. I consider whether something was placed here and removed after the blood was spilled. That, or—

I look at the braziers and the way they line the room. They remain unlit, though other candles in the room flicker strongly. I frown, moving around the urns. There must be something—some trigger or lever. I move away from the urns, running my fingers across the spines of the books, searching for one out of place. They all appear normal—until I see the only book that appears to be unread, its spine pristine compared to some of the shabbier books, though its been worn down to appear read. I reach for the book, pulling it out. It gets stuck halfway, and something shifts, startling me. The bookshelf beside me moves off the ground an inch and slides away to the right, revealing a hidden room.

Huh.

Not what I intended, but this works.

I conjure a flame with my fingers, using it to light my path as I step into the darkened room. On the wall beside me, a magical fire burns a faint green—veilfire, thank you, Solas. The occult advisor’s office, then? It must be. Everything in the room is tidy and cleaned, save on letter on the desk, the royal seal broken.

_Lady M, _

_ I need you at my side tonight. The unpleasantness in the royal wing has convinced me there is no safety within the palace. I do not expect my cousin to employ magic, but I would hardly be surprised if he provoked another infestation; since my court enchanter is not here to assist me, I must rely entirely upon you. There is no one else I can trust._

_ Celene_

Lady M. Interesting.

I turn back to the veilfire, eyeing it before an idea flits through my mind. I grab a torch off the wall and light it quickly, letting the green flame lick up the wood. I move back to the library swiftly, looking at the urns, reading the names carefully.

“Oh shit,” I whisper.

Shit, shit, shit, _shit_.

They’re all Orlesian names.

Of course they are. Why _wouldn’t_ they be?

“Shit, shit, shit.”

I try to light one, and it flames red. 

“Shit.”

I sigh heavily, reading the names swiftly.

“Shit.”

Judicael I. Florian. Etienne I. Judicael II. Etienne II. Reville.

“_Shit_! Fen’Harel.” I commit the names to memory, looking at the books. There are too many—far, _far _too many to search through. “Fucking…shit.” I’ll have to ask Leliana the order. I could guess, but I might almost lock myself out.

I startle when the bells ring loudly for the ballroom. Double shit.

I wave the veilfire out, return the torch, and push the book back in. I rush out of the Grand Library. Varric is still telling his story, captivating his audience. I grab the lattice and work my way down quickly, landing heavily. I wipe my forehead, collecting a thin layer of sweat, and then I walk forward casually like nothing happened.

First bell means I have ten minutes before the second bell and then ten minutes before the third. First bell is early, second bell is fashionably late, third bell is just rude.

Varric continues with the story, and I walk through the doors from the garden, throwing him the most grateful look of my life, which he returns with a smile, his words moving swiftly.

I pant breathlessly, moving through the room swiftly.

“Vhenan,” Solas calls softly. I stop and turn, smiling. “Where were you?” he wonders, amused as he reaches up to fix my circlet.

“Thank you,” I say breathlessly. “I was—wait! Do you know anything about Orlesian rulers?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Their—order, their lineage? If I gave you a bunch of names, would you know them by heart?”

“Possibly,” he says, frowning in amusement. “Orlesian lineage is not my specialty, but I can try. What are the names?”

My eyes widen. Suledin, you _fucking _idiot! “Uh—shit—” I close my eyes, waving my hands as I think. “Um…Et…Etienne I and II…Judis…No, Judic…Judicael I and II. Uh—uh—um…" I snap my fingers. "Reville! And…that was one, two, three, four, five…uh…shit.” I huff a sigh. Shit. “Uh—uh…Florianne—Florian! Florian.”

I open my eyes to see Solas offering a broad grin and wildly amused expression. He glances around the room before reaching up to affectionately run his thumb across my cheek. “I adore you, vhenan. I do know those names, actually.”

“Do you know them in order? Are they emperors? Which one came first?”

Solas smiles wider, licking his lips before he chuckles once. “The correct order is Etienne I, Reville, Etienne II, Judicael I, Judicael II, and Florian.”

I raise my fingers, tracing senselessly as I commit it to memory. “E1, R, E2, J1, J2, F, got it!” Instinctively, I reach for him, pulling my fingers away barely in time. “You are a genius, and I love you, and I really want to kiss you. I’ll be right back!”

“The bells—”

“I’ve got time! _Right _back! Thank you!”

I walk as calmly as I can to the gardens.

“…and returned it, finally, to where it belonged,” Varric finishes with a sigh, earning a loud cheer and round of applause. I wave my fingers in a tight circle, begging him to continue with an apologetic grimace. He sighs heavily, smiling falsely at the crowd. “Which leads, naturally, into what happened the next day.”

I grin widely at him, walking around the entranced crowd. I glance back and climb the lattice quickly, rushing to the Grand Library. I redo the veilfire and light the urns, the order zigzagging so wildly that I’m certain I never would have guessed it. Each other burns a brilliant cobalt blue, and I grin madly, my heart racing. And I thought the masquerade wouldn’t be fun.

The floor shifts loudly, and I turn back to see a panel of marble slide out of the way, revealing a set of stairs.

I take them quickly, almost tripping in the middle. I arrive in a large room, chests and safes lining the walls. In the center, a dead Venatori—judging from his clothes—is lying in a drying pool of blood. A letter is clasped in his hand. I reach for it quickly.

_Lady M,_

_ I enjoyed our last discussion on the occult. There is another matter I wish to know about. With this letter, I am sending you a mirror in the hopes that you might know what it does. Trust me, it _does _something. I know it does. I cannot explain but look into the mirror and tell me what you think upon our next meeting. _

_ Celene_

I search the room for said mirror, but, unless it’s very small and hidden in a safe, it’s not here. The letter looks old, the ink faded slightly. I frown, unsure why the man would risk stealing such a letter—or how he wound up here.

And I don’t have time to puzzle it out.

I blow the torch out and rush back up the stairs, the chains in my clothes clinking together as I rush. I blow the urns out with a gesture and close the office at the back, resetting everything. I walk back to the terrace, checking to make sure I didn’t forget anything before I close the door to the library. I gasp for breath and slide down the lattice quickly, landing awkwardly.

I give Varric an affirmative nod, listening as he wraps up the second story. I mouth a thank you, earning his smile as he nods. I walk back through the hall and arrive at Solas.

“Do I look like I just ran all around?” I ask quickly, out of breath.

He admires me, his lips curving into an amused smile again as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “No, you are beautiful.”

The heat continues to simmer in my stomach, rising to my cheeks. “You’re brilliant. The names worked. Thank you!”

“Second bell will ring any second,” he muses with a smile.

I glance around. “Gods, I want to kiss you so badly,” I sigh, earning a quiet chuckle and a somewhat dark look. “Thank you so much. I’ll explain later!”

He grins at me as I turn around, walking briskly through the Hall of Heroes and through the vestibule. I’m on the way to the ballroom when an unfamiliar voice stops me.

“Well, well. What have we here?” 

I turn to the rich voice, its tone honeyed and deliberate, as if she has all the time in the world. A woman comes down a set of stairs near the ballroom doors, her heels ringing against the marble stairs powerfully. Her plum dress hugs her frame, the style undoubtedly Orlesian though she herself has no mask or accent.

“The leader of the new _Inquisition_,” she hums languidly, “fabled Herald of the faith, delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” Her tone is sarcastic, and I can hardly blame her. She rests her hands on her hips as she stops before me, her expression amused. “What would bring such an _exalted _creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even _you _know?”

“We may _never _know,” I reply casually. “Courtly intrigue and all that.”

She smirks. “Such intrigues obscure much, but not all.” Her raven black hair falls to her gold eyes, and she brushes it back. “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane. You…have been very busy this evening, hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Even my humble, _hidden _office did not escape your notice.” I glance at her, and she smiles. “Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey,” she muses slowly, her eyes making some calculation as she appraises me.

“Perhaps we do. What prey is that, again?”

She chuckles. “You are being coy.”

“Careful,” I correct with a smile.

“As you were no doubt advised to do. Not unwise, here of all place. Allow me to speak first, then. Recently, I found and killed an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter. So, I offer you this, Inquisitor: a key, found on the Tevinter’s body.” She places the gold key in my hand, her eyes watching me carefully. “Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet, if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

I press my lips together. “I may find the time to try a door or two.”

She gives me an amused look, escorting me to the ballroom doors. “Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting.”


	37. The Harlequin

The second bell rings, and I head into the ballroom, earning a few glances and smiles as I walk. I make my way through the crowd to where Leliana leans against a table. Dozens of couples take to the dance floor, their gowns and suits flowing elegantly as their partners spin them.

Leliana’s eyes are turned down, though, away from the others, her expression disdainful.

“Are you alright?” I murmur, standing beside her. I lean against the wall, a little tired.

She shakes her head. “Look at Lady Cambienne’s slippers. Trimmed with pearls _and _emeralds? And those buckles! Toss her into the lake, and she’ll sink right to the bottom. What a disaster.”

I snicker. “There’s a Tevinter assassin on the loose who’s working for an ancient magister-darkspawn who thinks he's a god, and your concern is _shoes_?”

“It is not my _primary _concern,” she allows, “but it is a factor. Everyone needs a hobby,” she adds with a helpless sigh and a shrug. “Besides, you can learn a great deal about a person from their clothing. Gold and jewels on a dancing slipper—a slipper easily lost that finds itself in the dust and dirt? She is unconcerned with the possibility of losing the shoe or soiling it. A vulgar display of wealth. But Lady Cambienne’s family has recently lost most of its holdings. They have their title but little else. So, how did Cambienne acquire such a grand shoe, hm? What has she done? Who has she bedded? These are _all _useful questions, no?”

I laugh again. “You scare me, Leliana.”

She grins at me.

I lean closer to her. “I’ve discovered a great deal. And met Lady M.” Leliana purses her lips unhappily. “She gave me a key, suggested we might have attended this masquerade to…meet the same people.”

Leliana nods. “Good. Hopefully, she can be helpful. Do not make her your _sole_ hope, though, Inquisitor,” she warns, looking at me. “Morrigan’s concern is Morrigan. Whatever she’s given you, whatever she’s promised, she isn’t doing it out of the kindness of her heart. There is always something in it for her.”

I frown. “What’s your issue with her?”

Leliana shakes her head dismissively. “It is a long story, and we haven’t the time. Now is the opportune moment to speak with Briala. Gaspard is occupied, and Celene has not returned from the balcony since we arrived.”

“Is she alright?”

“Yes,” Leliana replies. “I can see her from here.”

“Where are Briala and Gaspard?”

“As far from each other as possible. They’ve each taken a wing, so to speak,” she says, gesturing to two balconies. I see Gaspard talking quietly with a man, waving once with his hand at the ballroom.

“Getting in plenty of exercise today,” I muse, pushing off the wall.

I head to the right, moving through the open door to the balcony to find myself face to face with another elf. She looks up at me from behind a silver mask, crossing her legs as she sits on a bench.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” she greets, sounding bored as she waves her glass of champagne. “How many guests have mistaken you for a kitchen servant?”

“Are you genuinely asking?” I reply to her rhetorical question. “Because five.”

She offers a wry smile. “You’ve charmed some of the nobles. We’ll see how long you can keep their favor. What brings you to me?”

“I was hoping to learn about Celene and Gaspard, from your perspective.”

“Gaspard is a warmonger,” she replies indifferently, sipping her champagne. “He served in the war against Ferelden and fought a dozen skirmishes on the Nevarran border. He’s a simple man. Simple men aren’t hard to manipulate.”

“And the empress?”

“Celene is the voice of reason in the empire,” Briala answers, looking away. “But reason is cautious. Reason looks for compromises. Reason doesn’t choose radical change—however sorely it may be needed.”

“May I ask you something more personal?”

“I am an elf, Inquisitor. That should tell you everything you need to know about my life. I’m good at what I do. That’s all that matters. I will help my people—no matter the cost.”

“I’ve been told you and Celene have a history.”

“I didn’t take you for a gossipmonger, Inquisitor,” Briala replies shortly. “I suppose your spies have already briefed you, so there is no point in pretending. Yes, Celene and I were lovers once. But we’ve—gone our separate ways now.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer.

“Don’t be. She served her purpose for me, as I did for her. We don’t pretend it was any more than that.”

“How did you become her ambassador?”

“There was a time when I put my spies at her disposal. She knows my qualifications. We had a falling-out. Now, we’re negotiating to determine whether I return to her side in the war.”

“I was told she used you as a gambit to save her political career. I’d call that more than a falling-out.”

“She merely played the Game,” Briala shrugs. 

“That’s no excuse for that she did to you.”

“You are in Orlais, Inquisitor. That is how Orlesians justify these things to themselves. To her, it was a game.”

“And to you?”

“A betrayal,” she replies honestly.

“What will you do if the negotiations fail?”

“I have contingency plans.”

I frown. “You do realize how that sounds, right? I mean, you _know _why the Inquisition is truly here.”

“I know it’s incriminating. Few harbor more resentment against Celene than I. But if she died after inviting me here, the court would certainly pin her death on me. We are scapegoats to them, to be thrown on the fire when the need arises, proof or no proof. An _elf _assassinating the empress? Alienages across Orlais—across all Thedas—would be purged. No, I have as much interest in seeing Celene live as you claim to.”

I flinch. “We will make sure she survives the night.”

“You serve your people, whether you realize it or not. For that, and that alone, I…thank you.”

“Is there—anything I can do to—help our people? The Inquisition has a large reach.”

“There are always things to be done to improve our situation. If you choose to turn your organization into a force that does that, fine, but I have my own methods, and I prefer to keep them to myself.”

“Alright. Thank you, Ambassador, for the talk.”

She waves her hand disinterestedly, sipping her champagne as I depart.

I pass Leliana, giving her a quiet look. I find Cullen surrounded by several people, his expression pained.

“Commander,” I call, waving him over as I walk.

“Thank the—yes, Inquisitor?” he says, moving away from the table so quickly that it jostles a little. 

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Literally anything.”

I chuckle. “Can you find Cassandra and Blackwall and have them meet me by the servants’ quarters?”

“At once, Inquisitor,” he nods, moving briskly through to the vestibule.

I follow him more slowly. I see Varric and Solas talking quietly at Solas’ table as I walk through the Hall of Heroes. As if sensing me, Solas looks up, and I wave him over discreetly. He and Varric move away from the table.

“Snow,” Varric sighs. “You owe me—a very long game of Wicked Grace. Do you hear me? And a drink. A very large drink.”

“Thank you so, so much,” I grin, giggling once. “I’m so sorry. You are a god.”

He gives another playful sigh. “What’re we doing now?”

“Cassandra and Blackwall are on their way. I’ve heard some interesting things about the servants’ quarters.”

“Several elves have gone missing there tonight,” Solas nods in agreement. “Worth checking out, but it’s locked. I checked after I—”

I pull out a key, spinning it in my fingers. “Good thing I have this, then.”

Solas smirks.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra sighs as she arrives. “Are we finally going to _do _something?”

“Yes. Did you bring any weapons?”

“No, I came to the Winter Palace unarmed,” she replies drily.

I hesitate. “Cass, we’ve talked about this. You’re too deadpan; I can’t tell when you’re joking.”

She sighs heavily and rolls her eyes. “Of course I brought a weapon.”

“Good. Varric?”

“Two weapons, right here,” he says, holding up his fists.

“You didn’t bring Bianca?”

“Ah, no,” he sighs. “She wouldn’t fit in the tunic.”

“Are you sure you want to go? You don’t have t—”

“Maker, please, free me from this prison. I’d go crawling through glass.”

I flinch. “Thank you for that…_vivid _image.”

He shrugs, gesturing to Cassandra when she nods in agreement with his sentiment.

“Okay, that’s—no glass. Let’s move away from the metaphor, alright. I've got a dagger you can use."

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwall mutters, joining us. “This party is terrible.”

“It is,” Cassandra agrees readily.

“Did you bring a weapon?” I ask.

“A dagger.”

“Good. We’re checking out the servants’ quarters.”

“Say no more. I’d walk through prickleweed barefoot if it meant escaping this place.”

“Gah,” I recoil. “What _is _it with you guys? It’s not _that _bad.”

“It’s terrible,” Blackwall says seriously.

“It is,” Cassandra agrees again.

“Fen’Harel,” I sigh. “Come on, let’s go. Make sure no one’s watching.”

“You’re good,” Varric replies. “No wait!” I jerk upright, leaning against the wall casually. “No, I’m kidding, you’re good.”

“Not funny,” I frown at him, slipping the key through the lock.

“It was a little funny.”

I push the door open quickly, waving the others in and closing it just as fast. "Here," I say quickly, lifting the edge of my robes enough to reach the outside of my thigh.

"Wait, what's—what are you doing, Inquisitor?" Blackwall demands, throwing a hand up to cover his eyes. 

"Will you calm down?" I mutter, reaching the dagger. I pull it out and toss it to Varric. "Just grabbing that for him."

"Oh," Blackwall sighs. "I thought you were changing."

I make a face at him. "Into _what_?"

"I don't know!" 

"Okay, well, maybe be a _little _more repulsed next time, mm?" 

"Oh, no, Inquisitor, I didn't mean—" 

I wave him off. "I'm joking."

"It's all warm," Varric says, sheathing the dagger through his belt. "What do you run, like a _thousand _degrees?"

I give a sigh so heavy that it hurts my lungs. "Anytime the two of you want to grow up, that would be great, thanks."

“Can you imagine being those other poor saps still back at the party?” Varric chuckles. “Smiling and nodding and listening. Ugh.”

“Varric, buddy, we’ve been gone ten seconds,” I mutter, moving past him to lead us down the long, dark hallway.

“And yet I feel like a new man.”

Blackwall rumbles a chuckle. “I know just what you mean.”

I lead briskly, lighting a small flame with my right hand. I take a flight of stairs quickly down, running my other fingers against the wall as I go. When I reach the bottom step, I freeze and then walk into the room slowly. The smell hits me hard, and I raise a hand to my face, covering my nose and mouth as I look around in quiet horror.

“Maker,” Varric breathes.

“Someone will be held accountable for this,” Cassandra swears angrily.

I look around at the bodies strewn in bloody, careless heaps, some thrown on top of each other. Maids and scullions, servants and gardeners—all elves, all cut down without even weapons to defend themselves.

“Who…” I don’t bother finishing the question, swallowing hard.

“We’ll get the ones that did it, Snow,” Varric promises.

I move over the bodies with care, watching my step.

“Careful, vhenan,” Solas murmurs softly.

I continue through the bodies, moving out to the balcony. We move under an archway of vines, and I glare at the ground as we go. I look up when we reach the end of the balcony to a dead body near the fountain below us. I check the distance to the ground and then cross over the railing one leg at a time. I land wrong, wincing at my ankle as I walk forward. I glance back to see the others follow me over, landing much better than I did. As we edge closer to the body, I see the man's elegant clothes and the spindly knife sticking from his back.

“He’s no servant,” I mutter. “What was he doing here?”

“He’s an emissary of the Council of Heralds,” Cassandra says thoughtfully.

“That’s the Chalons family crest,” Blackwall says, pointing.

I frown. “How do you even know that?” I half-chuckle. “That’s so random.”

Blackwall huffs and shrugs. “Just—one of those things.”

“Duke Gaspard will pay for this,” Cassandra seethes.

“Would be really be so stupid as to—”

A scream cuts off my question. An elven woman comes running down the path, crying for help. I try to throw up a barrier between her and the woman chasing her, but I’m a second too late. A woman in a harlequin outfit stabs the elf in the back shortly before my barrier cuts her off. She throws a smoke grenade as I stare at her. Solas waves his hand, a burst of wind scattering the smoke as quickly as it exploded, but the harlequin is gone.

“Damn it!” I gasp.

“Venatori!” Varric warns.

“Shit—”

I throw up a barrier when an arrow launches towards us. Solas switches with me, maintaining the barrier while I hurl fireballs at the men running to us. Cassandra grabs her dagger from the back of her belt and dashes out.

“Careful with your clothes!” I exclaim, wincing. Maybe no one heard that?

“Careful with your _clothes_?” Varric repeats with a loud laugh. “She’s charging into a bunch of Venatori nut jobs with a _dagger_, and the only thing you say is—”

“I knew it as soon as I said it, but we have to go back to the ball! We can’t do that if we’re covered in blood! Now, shut up and grab that bow. Cass, Blackwall, grab a sword, we’re going after the harlequin.”

“We don’t know where she went,” Blackwall says, picking a blade up.

“There’s only one place she could’ve gone,” I reply, gesturing to the balcony above us.

“No way she could get up there that fast,” Cassandra says uncertainly.

“She could’a kicked off that wall,” Varric points. “Not something a regular rogue can do, but if she’s trained enough. I once saw Isabela rush three feet up a wall and kick off it, taking a guy’s head with her. And she’s a lot more…uh…well-endowed than the harlequin.”

Cassandra gives a disgusted noise. “What does _that _matter?”

“It doesn’t! I didn’t mean it like _that_. I just meant, if _she _could get up that high, the harlequin could have.” Varric winces at his own wording, but Cassandra doesn't have a chance to retort.

“Harlequin rogues are well-trained,” Blackwall murmurs seriously.

I turn to glance at him. “That’s a thing? Harlequin rogues?”

“We just saw one,” he says, gesturing wildly at where she was standing. “It’s not like I just pulled it out'a thin air.”

“I just thought she was weird or something. But that’s a thing?”

“Yes, an Orlesian guild of assassins. Nobles hire them out. They are…deadly. We need to be careful. We won’t be able to take her on like this.”

Cassandra snorts. 

“Aren’t you a darkspawn-fighting Grey Warden?” Varric wonders.

Blackwall frowns at them both. “Look, there’s warriors and rogues, and then there’s mages, and then there’s assassins, and _then_ there’s Harlequins. There’s a reason why no one’s heard of 'em.”

“Because they’re so few?”

“Because they kill anyone who sees them. Nobles don’t even _meet_ the Harlequins they hire. We basically just had our death warrants signed and stamped.”

Cassandra snorts again, and I back away from the others, entering the apartments. 

“I’m serious. They’re deadly and—”

“Oh, already inside," I call loudly. "Oh well, let’s keep going.”

“She’ll _kill _us all if we—”

“What? Can’t hear you—too far away.”

“Maker’s balls.”

We come across more Venatori in the apartments. Cassandra manages to bloody her clothes, and Varric breaks his nose—which I heal quickly—but we manage to make it through alive. When we reach the top floor, still searching for evidence of the harlequin, we come across a larger force of Venatori. We manage to kill them all except one. He turns and flees, nearly escaping before he slams back to the ground, a dagger in his helmet.

I frown, looking up to see someone turn a corner quickly. Briala. She doesn’t seem as surprised to see me as I am to see her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she hums. “Shouldn’t you be dancing, Inquisitor? What will the nobility say?”

“No doubt there’s a line breathlessly waiting for a chance to dance with me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were one,” she shrugs indifferently, casting a quick glance over me. “You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble.” She gestures to the balcony, and I glance back at the others before following her into the fresh air. “I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it. So…the Council of Heralds’ emissary in the courtyard—that’s not your work, is it?”

“Nope. What if I said it was? Out of curiosity.”

She laughs, the sound quiet but ironic. “Well, I wouldn’t believe you, for one. You may have arrived with the grand duke, but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work.”

“Then you saw the dagger.”

“Yes, and only a fool would leave his own sigil at the scene of a crime. Gaspard is many things, but he is no fool.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But while he is not guilty of _that _crime, he is of many others.”

“Such as?”

“Smuggling in chevalier, for one.”

I frown. “To kill Celene?”

“Why else?”

“Are you certain? He was too…easygoing for a man plotting treason.”

“Don’t let his charm blind you. He’s Orlesian. That smile is his mask.” She glances at me. “I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal?” she wonders, cocking her head. “You should think about it.”

“You know how to make a sales pitch, Ambassador, I’ll give you that.”

Briala smirks. “We all have talents. Mine is knowing which way the wind is blowing. I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And…if you happen to lean a little our way? It…could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought.”

With that, Briala nods formally and then slips off the balcony. I lunge forward worriedly only to see her walking away unharmed, disappearing under the vine archways several stories below.

Cassandra sighs heavily. “More politics and double-dealing. Is there anyone here who is _not _corrupt?”

“And I thought the Merchants Guild was bad,” Varric mumbles.

“Do you think I’d break something if I jumped, too?” I wonder.

“Uh, _yeah_,” Varric says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the balcony. “You twisted your ankle on a three-foot drop."

I grimace. "You...noticed that?"

"Yeah, Snow. Let’s take the scene route.”

“It would be so much faster,” I sigh regrettably.

“To meeting your gods? Yeah. Yeah, it would be.”

“Briala did it,” I point out, now just to see his reaction.

“Well, sure,” he allows, his tone amused, “but she’s a small, lithe little thing.”

I smirk and then turn on him, putting a hand on my hip as I raise my eyebrows. “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” I demand, fighting a smile with all my strength.

Varric recoils slightly, his eyes widening. “What? Nothing! Just that she’s—you know—shorter, a little, and she’s, you know—she’s got less of a—_you’ve _got bigger—no, that’s gross—I mean—Chuckles, help me out here—I just mean that _you _have a better—no, no, not _better_, that's—I mean, not _not _better! I don’t mean—”

“She’s messing with you,” Cassandra says finally. “For a man of the people, you sometimes aren’t that bright.”

Varric gapes at me, and I laugh loudly, clapping my hands once.

“Snow,” he chuckles breathily, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “That was—that was just _cruel._”

“Your face,” I laugh loudly, pretending to wipe tears. "I've never heard you stammer," I add, cackling. 

“Not okay, Snow,” Varric huffs. “Maker’s balls.”

"Gods, that was—I needed that, whew." 

Varric shakes his head, still rubbing the back of his neck. "As you like to say, onwards and upwards. Or...downwards, in this case."

I scoff. "I said that _one _time!" 

Cassandra makes an uncertain noise.

"What?" I demand. 

"You do say it a lot..."

I scoff again.

We make it back to the courtyard and find another way through a long alley that we _assume _leads back to the vestibule. Hopefully.

We enter a long, torch-lit hallway. “Wait, Cass, come here,” I say quickly. She moves past Blackwall, standing before me. I grimace at the blood flecking her skin and drying in her clothes. “Well, anyone got any ideas?”

I look back at the others, laughing louder than I mean to when Varric jerks his thumb back at the water fountain.

“It’s fine,” Cassandra complains. “Barely noticeable.”

“Handkerchief?” I say, holding my hand out.

Blackwall hands me one. I summon a small ball of ice, melting it quickly until the handkerchief is wet. I reach up and get all the blood on her neck, face, and hands and step back. “I guess it’s not so noticeable on your clothes if you’re in dim lighting…very dim…like…can you try to find a room with _no _lights?”

Cassandra rolls her eyes and takes the handkerchief, dabbing at her tunic as we walk.

“Am I good?” I ask, turning to the others.

Solas gestures for me to stop, a gentle smile on his lips.

“We’ll go on back,” Varric says. “I’ll tell Leliana what we found.”

“Thanks, Varric,” I hum. 

“Uh huh. Come on, Seeker. Let’s give these kids some privacy.”

I snort at him as the three of them continue forward. I look back at Solas. He adjusts my circlet, tucking loose strands of my hair behind my ear. “Do I look like I just fought a bunch of Venatori?” I wonder.

He gives me an amused, playful smile. “More like you’ve stepped away from a compromising scenario.”

I laugh and blush richly at the implication, heat still pooling in my stomach. I search him for something to fix, settling for removing a long strand of my hair from his jacket. Solas watches his fingers as he works correcting my hair and necklace, flipping the emerald on it around.

“Oh,” I muse, glancing down the hall to see that we’re alone. “I nearly forgot. I do believe I said I owed you for the Orlesian emperor names.”

I grab Solas’ collar, pulling him to me unceremoniously before he can reply. Solas responds immediately, his lips melting and moving with mine so flawlessly that I half-wonder if he wasn’t waiting for me to do it. My breath rushes from me so wildly that it would be embarrassing if it weren’t Solas with me. I part my lips, delving my tongue into his mouth eagerly as I reach for his cheek. He makes a soft sound at the intrusion, his fingers pressing to the small of my back and pulling me closer. I kiss him ravenously, rising to my toes to reach him better. He steps forward, and the stone wall meets my back. He lowers his hand to my thigh, pulling it up over his waist, and I gasp again, gripping his arm tighter. He smiles against my lips, the gesture driving me insane, and I feel heat pool ridiculously under my clothes. His arm winds around my waist as I arch into him, and he pulls me impossibly closer, his long fingers settling on my hip below the sashes and belts. I grow lightheaded and dizzy, and for a long, breathless moment, I forget where we are. 

With all my willpower, I manage to pull back. “_That _was for the Orlesian guys.” I have a brief second to enjoy his amused reaction before I kiss him again, pulling him down to meet me. He hitches my leg higher, his fingers running up the outside of my thigh gently. I gasp again, smiling at the inappropriately stolen moment, my heart racing in my chest. I pull back again reluctantly. “And that’s for earlier.”

Solas brings his hands to my cheeks, kissing me once more, gently. “Ar lath ma.”

I smile, returning the sentiment quickly. My leg falls back to the ground slowly as Solas traces my lower lip, likely fixing my lipstick. I check to make sure I didn’t get any on him.

“Come on,” he murmurs so reluctantly that I grin. “We’d better get back.”

Solas takes my hand, using our solitude to interlace his fingers with mine tightly. As we walk, he brings my hand to his lips and holds it there, looking at me adoringly. I smile, blushing as I look down.

When we arrive at the door, Solas kisses me one last time, his lips gentle and tender, and then he exists the servants’ quarters ahead of me. I wait a moment, checking my robes swiftly before I slip out, too.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs, startling me.

“Assassin,” I gasp.

“Varric told me what you found. While you were away, one of my agents slipped into Gaspard’s trophy room and found this.”

I take the slip of paper from her extended hand quickly.

_Phillipe, _

_ Move in on the western wing of the palace when I send you three shots of brandy. Not taking any chances._

_ Gaspard_

“Huh. Some guy was raving about a man named Phillipe earlier. Apparently, he’s missing. The man I spoke to thought he was, uh, dallying, he said, with some girl.”

“Hm,” Leliana hums. “Perhaps Celene got to him first. Or Briala.”

The bell rings loudly. “Was that one or two? Please don’t say three.”

“That was the second bell. Go to the ballroom. I’ll be right behind you.”

I nod and move calmly and casually down the Hall of Heroes and through the vestibule. I nod gratefully at a guard as he gets the door for me, and I walk in to find Florianne waiting for me.

“Inquisitor Lavellan!” she greets warmly. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons,” she greets. “Welcome to my party.”

“Why am I not at all surprised that you want to see me now?” I muse.

She grins. “This is Orlais, Inquisitor. Nothing happens by accident. I believe tonight, you and I are both concerned by the actions of…a certain person. Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

“Very well,” I muse, clearing my throat softly. “Shall we dance, Your Grace?” I offer a touch louder.

“I’d be delighted!” she accepts.

She takes my hand, and we descend the stairs together. I do my best to follow the steps to the dance Josephine spent many mornings, include this one, teaching me. “Have the Dalish gained a sudden passion for politics?” Florianne wonder. “What do you know about our civil war?”

“I assure you the effects of this war reach far beyond the borders of the Orlesian empire.”

“Perhaps it does,” she agrees. “I should not be surprised to find the empire is the center of everyone’s world. It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations, yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the empire is at stake. Neither of us wishes to see it fall.”

“_Do _we both want that, Lady Florianne?” I muse.

“I hope we are of one mind on this.”

“In times like these,” I murmur, spinning Florianne, “it’s hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?” I keep with her steps carefully, gliding across the floor as she leads. I move my hand to her waist, careful to keep up. I know the next part of the dance is the part I always fumbled with Josephine. Here’s hoping for a little luck or divine intervention.

“I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother Gaspard and have been everywhere in the palace. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor. And a matter of concern to some.”

“And which am I to you, Your Grace?”

“A little of both, actually. This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it.” I give a relieved smile when I make it through the tricky part without falling. “Do you even yet _know _who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?”

“If I’ve learned anything, Your Grace,” I murmur, “it is to put my trust in no one.” That’s probably what I’m supposed to say. Mysterious and detached—two words no one has _ever_ used to describe me.

Florianne moves around me, her feet far more skilled. I manage to keep pace with her, pleased with myself. Not bad, Snow, not bad.

I almost roll my eyes. Great, Varric’s got _me _doing it now.

“In the Winter Palace,” Florianne murmurs, “everyone is alone. It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

“Mm, I thought ‘dangerous machinations’ were the national sport in Orlais.”

I plant my feet and drop Florianne into a dip. She rolls her head back and smirks. A sound of applause alerts me to our audience. Not only that, but the other couples have stopped dancing and cleared the dance floor. Great. No pressure.

I pull Florianne up and continue the dance carefully, following her lead.

“You have little time,” Florianne murmurs. “The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing Garden, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

The dance ends, and Florianne and I bow to each other. I consider her casually. “We’ll see what the night has in store,” I muse, “won’t we, Lady Florianne?”

With that, I move off the dance floor to the round of applause as it grows louder. I nod and smile as I pass through the crowd.

Josephine comes up to me, relief evident on her face. “You’ll be the talk of the court for months,” she gasps. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“We should challenge Corypheus to a dance-off,” I decide.

“If only,” she laughs.

“Were you _dancing _with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana says quickly, coming up to us with a weary-looking Cullen.

“More importantly,” he murmurs, “what happened in the servants’ quarters? I heard there was fighting.”

“I hope you have good news,” Josephine sighs. “It appears the peace talks are crumbling.”

“The grand duchess tried to convince me Gaspard is the traitor,” I reply, “but I’m not sure I buy it.”

Leliana makes a face. “Florianne and her brother are as thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself.”

“Then,” Cullen sighs, “the attack on the empress _will _happen tonight.”

“We should tell Celene,” I say.

Josephine waves her hand. “Warning her is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed and to flee would admit defeat.”

Leliana folds her hands behind her back. “Then perhaps we should let her die.”

Everyone stares at her.

“Hilarious, Leliana,” I say, glaring at her.

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor. What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone _must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t need to be Celene,” Cullen murmurs, looking at me. “She’s right.”

I gape at them. “Have you two completely _lost it_?” I exclaim in the whisper.

“Do you _realize _what you’re suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine demands.

“This is a living, breathing woman we’re talking about,” I add. “She’s going to be _killed_, and we’re the only ones with the power to stop it, and you want to just, what, sit by, sip some champagne, and watch it all go down?”

“Sometimes,” Leliana muses, “the best path is not the easiest one.”

“_What_?” I exclaim in a whisper again. “What does that even _mean_? No! We are _not_ having this conversation.”

“We must. Even inaction is a decision, Inquisitor.”

I glare at her. “I’m not letting a woman get _murdered _tonight just so that we can—”

“You’re weighing the life of one woman against all of Thedas.”

“_No_,” I snap, “I’m just not trading lives the way you want me to.”

“You kill people in the field all the time, Inquisitor. Why is this any different?”

“Because—they attacked _me_! I’m _defending _myself!”

“This is a woman who ordered the purge of an entire alienage to save face. _That_ is the life you are prioritizing over the others.”

I gape at her, breathing out slowly before I respond. “I can’t believe you would use that as a weapon so offhandedly. Leliana, like her or not, agree with her or not, she doesn’t deserve to be _assassinated _by some tyrannical warmonger or an elven spy so they can try their hand at ruling! _That _is the chaos Corypheus wants.”

“We could—”

“No,” I say firmly and too loudly, my voice cold. “No. You didn’t see that future; I did, and Dorian did. I don’t think he’d disagree with me here. Regardless of her crimes or problems, it was _Celene’s _death that helped catapult Thedas into a vat of red lyrium and demons and infections and death—we are _not _letting that happen. Our whole fucking reason for coming here was to _stop _this. We’re not changing that plan randomly.”

“Alright, Inquisitor,” Cullen murmurs gently. “You’ve made your point.”

I shake my head, rolling my tongue across my teeth.

Josephine looks at me. “You could speak to Celene in the ballroom, but she won’t act. Not without proof.”

Cullen shifts his stance, crossing his arms. “If Gaspard is guilty, he’ll admit nothing. If he’s innocent, he _knows _nothing. We need the truth.”

“What did Duchess Florianne tell you?” Leliana asks.

“She said Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing Garden,” I reply. “She said he knows about the assassination.”

“Which could be a trap,” Cullen mutters.

“Or a lead,” Josephine offers optimistically. “Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues.”

I nod. “Get me access, please, and in the meantime, get your soldiers into position, Cullen. Leliana, keep your spies working. We need all the information we can get.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Leliana nods, departing.

“Cullen,” I say quickly as he turns. “Can you find Cassandra, Varric, Blackwall, and Solas again? Have them meet me by the royal wing?”

“At once,” Cullen nods. “Be careful, Inquisitor.”


	38. A Servant of Silence

I make my way through the vestibule, nodding politely at those who pay me any mind. When I reach the stairs at the end that lead to the royal wing, I see Solas and Varric waiting with Blackwall. As I get to the top, Cassandra jogs up the stairs after me.

“We ready?” I ask.

“We haven’t been back long,” Varric sighs, “but I’ve been antsy to leave again. Let’s go and hopefully not come back." He frowns. "Or…no, wait, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

I laugh and push the door open, pleased to find it unlocked.

“So, how much fighting do you think we’ll get into?” Varric wonders. “Because I only just got my nose to stop bleeding.”

I snicker. “Hopefully not much, but when have things every gone that smoothly for us?”

Varric sighs heavily. “That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

The royal wing's foyer opens into a large room lined with bookshelves, paintings, and plants. A lavish gold and mahogany desk waits in the middle of the floor near the stairs, and I step to it, pulling draws open.

“Ooh, is this the part where we rifle through the empress’ unmentionables?” Varric wonders. “Are you drunk, Snow?” he adds.

“Tragically, no.”

“You didn’t have a drink?”

“I had some of Solas’,” I admit distractedly.

“Did you get something to eat, at least?”

“Uh…had one of those little cake things,” I reply, finding nothing in the desk. “It was divine.”

“Right? Shame you haven't tried much. We’ll have to remedy that before we leave. Say what you will about Orlesians, they know how to cook.”

“Will you please lower your voice?” Cassandra mutters. “I have a splitting migraine.”

“Sorry, Seeker.”

"Here, let me, Cass," I murmur. She tries to stop me, but I reach up to place my hand across her forehead, muttering swiftly. 

When I take my hand down, she blinks in surprise. "Oh, thank you, Inquisitor. That is...much better."

I flash her a quick smile and move away from the desk. 

Upstairs, we come to a large square hallway, several doors lining them. I sigh heavily, unsure which one will be most useful. I’m on the verge of randomly guessing or asking for suggestions when I see another mysterious, magically sealed door. I approach it, the others following me closely. I rest my hand on the cool wood of the door, feeling the magic thrum through it.

“Hello?” a muffled voice calls from within. “Is anyone there?”

I make a face, stepping back.

“Uh, got a key, Snow?”

“I opened one of these on the terrace while you, uh, captivated the crowd—sorry about that.”

“Oh. Glad my monologue gave you the time.”

I flash a grin at him before stepping back to look at the portraits adorning the door. I frown, unsure if I recognize it. I study the paintings carefully.

A baby cries in the woods, alone in the dark. A clan of Dalish elves come across the baby, scooping her up and taking her with them. In the third and fourth panels, she grows to a child and then a woman, training with the elves. Then, she sits upon a large horse, clad in armor designed to hide her gender. The Dalish clan waves goodbye as she rides away. She is then depicted fighting and winning in a tournament, clad in her armor. She appears to be victorious in all her matches. She fights with a man in dark armor, winning again. They fight a second time, and he trips the woman, pulling her helmet off as she falls, revealing her as a woman. Long hair falls down her armor in waves as she looks up in horror. The crowd stares in silence for a panel before they are on their feet, evidently cheering. The man grows furious, and he strikes at the woman. In the next panel, she lies in a pool of blood, his blade dripping. The last panel shows a statue of the woman, honoring her.

“I—don’t know this one,” I admit. “The last door I opened had a Dalish tale, one called Felassan, the Slow Arrow.” I turn to the others, catching Solas’ annoyed expression as he looks down the hall. “You know it?” I murmur.

“I am familiar with it,” he mutters in response, his tone a little clipped.

“Do you know this one, too?” I ask, gesturing. “For the last door, the password was the only spoken dialogue in the story, but—”

“What was it?” Varric wonders. “The line. I haven’t heard that story.”

“It was, ‘when did I say that I would save you?’”

“Dark,” Varric muses as Solas gives an impatient sigh, surprising me again.

“What’s wrong?” I wonder softly.

“Nothing. Forgive me,” he replies dismissively, gesturing to the door behind me. “This is the tale of Aveline the Brave.”

“Ha!” Varric says with a wide grin. "You don't say."

“What’s the story?” I ask, glancing at him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Varric replies. “I just know the name.”

“Solas?”

“Briefly, Aveline was cast aside as a baby, taken in and trained by a Dalish clan. When she was older, she dreamed of becoming a warrior, and her Dalish clan outfitted her and sent her to Orlais. She competed in and won many tournaments. During her time, women were not allowed to fight in Orlais, and an opponent who was slighted by his losses took off her helmet, revealing her as a woman. Rather than grow angry, the crowd cheered for Aveline, and the man killed her out of spite. The prince of Orlais was there that day and saw the injustice. When he became king, he knighted Aveline posthumously and amended the laws of his country to allow women to enter the tourney and fight.”

“Wow…” I turn to the door and press my hand to it. “Aveline…Aveline the Brave…I feel stupid…” I turn back. “Was there any dialogue?”

“In the story?” Solas replies. “One line, but I would be very surprised if it was the password."

"What was it?"

Solas sighs. "As he struck her down, the man called, ‘know your place, woman.’”

“Charming,” Varric mumbles.

I wrinkle my nose.

“As I said, I would be surprised,” Solas murmurs.

I try it anyway, disliking the way the words taste as I say them. My tone conveys that.

“Mm,” Solas murmurs, thinking carefully. “Try…Here, allow me, vhenan.”

I move aside quickly, watching Solas press his hand to the door. He murmurs so softly that I can’t hear him, and the door clicks open. I grin at him.

“Well done. What did you say?” I smile.

Before he can answer, Varric coughs. “What in the holy balls of the Maker is going on in there?”

“Varric, really,” Cassandra sighs.

I peer inside, blinking in surprise when I find a man tied to a bed, his arms and legs spread—very, _very _spread.

“I will never unsee that,” I mutter, looking up and away.

“What? What is happening?” Cassandra asks, peering inside. "Oh...oh my."

“So…so naked…so much…naked,” I gasp.

Blackwall starts laughing behind me, looking over my shoulder.

“Really?” the man inside complains.

Blackwall laughs louder.

“Alright, I’ll—go see what this is about then. Be right back. Spare yourselves,” I add.

"I heard that!" the man scoffs. 

Varric snorts as I enter the room. I grab a blanket off the couch along the way, admiring the wall as I walk. I throw the blanket over the man’s lower half and turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Thank you,” he sighs.

“What, uh, what's going on here, buddy?”

“It’s not what it looks like! Honestly, I would have preferred it if it _were _what it looks like.”

“Kind’a looks like you’re chained to the empress’ bed super naked…so, so naked…”

“Okay, maybe it _is _a little bit like that it looks like. The empress led me to believe I would be…rewarded for betraying the grand duke.” I sigh heavily, resting my hands on my hips. “This…was not what I hoped for.”

“Mm, charming. I don’t suppose you’re Phillipe?”

“How do you know my name? Please! I beg you! Don’t tell Gaspard! The empress beguiled me!”

“Mhm.”

“Into giving her information about…” He hesitates, looking away. 

“Well don’t stop now.”

Phillipe sighs. “About plans for troop movements in the palace tonight. She knows _everything_. Everything! The duke’s surprise attack has been countered before it ever began. She’s turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she’ll have him arrested for treason.”

“Clever!” Varric calls.

I wave a hand a him wildly.

“Sorry, Snow! I mean we can’t hear or see anything from back here.”

I wave my hand again, fighting a smirk this time. “I’ll protect you from Gaspard if you’re willing to testify about Celene’s trap.”

“I’ll do anything! Anything!”

“Where’s the key?”

“Right behind you,” he sighs. “I’ve been staring at it for five hours. My bladder is going to—”

"Yep, that's probably enough information right there." I reach around and grab the key, unlocking his right cuff before I toss it on the bed. “You’ve got it from here, yes? Good. See you in the ballroom. Find Commander Cullen and tell him what you told me.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

I wave a hand as I walk away, shaking my head when I get to the door. “Orlais is such an _interesting _place,” I sigh, annoyed. “Never know what you’re gonna—”

A scream cuts me off, and I turn to the closed room far to the left. I run forward, slamming against the door so hard that it, fortunately, bursts open and bangs off the wall. I gasp, clutching at my shoulder only to see the harlequin again.

“Hey!” I shout as she slashes at the elven servant on the ground, missing when the elf rolls away desperately. I run forward, perhaps thoughtlessly, given Blackwall’s warning.

“Inquisitor, no, _don't_!” he tries to warn again.

I slam into the harlequin a second before she reacts, pushing her out the window. “Shit,” I gasp, clutching my shoulder. “You and Cass make it look so easy,” I complain before reaching down to help the elf up. “Are you alright?” I ask seriously, rubbing my shoulder again.

“Thank you!” she cries in relief.

“Hope you’re not disappointed I stole your dance partner. Rude of me, to just burst in like that. And painful…so painful.”

The elven woman laughs nervously, anxious tears brimming her eyes. I reach forward delicately to her arm. 

“It’s alright,” I murmur. “You’re okay.”

“No one’s supposed to be here,” she gasps. “Briala said…oh, I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

“Briala sent you here?”

“Not personally,” she replies. “The ‘ambassador’ can’t be seen talking to the servants. We get coded messages at certain locations. But the order came from her. She’s been watching the grand duke all night. No surprise she wanted someone to search his sister’s room.”

“This is Florianne’s room?” I repeat.

“It used to be. This had been her private room in Halamshiral since she was a child. But this part of the palace was damaged, and the royal family moved to the guest wing weeks ago.”

“What were you sent here to do?”

“The message didn’t say.”

“Is there anyone else who knows the code and drop location?”

“I…I don’t know. Any of us could do it, but…no. No one else would send me here. It had to be Briala. I should have known it was a setup. I was so stupid.”

“No,” I argue softly. “Not stupid. It was brave to come here unarmed.” My eyes widen. “That—wasn’t sarcasm.”

She laughs weakly. “It’s not ‘brave’ to blindly follow Briala’s orders into a trap…I _knew _her. Before, when she was Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution, but I remember. She was knowingly sleeping with the empress who purged our alienage.”

“She did what now?” I demand. No, don’t detract. “Never mind—that’s—” I wave my hand. “Would you be willing to testify to that if I asked?”

“Absolutely,” she says firmly. “If…if the Inquisition will protect me, I’ll tell you everything I know about our ‘ambassador.’”

“Thank you. Go to the ballroom. Find Commander Cullen—he’s a tall man with blonde hair wearing a red and black diplomatic uniform. Tell him I sent you. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” the elf gasps. “Maker protect you, Inquisitor.”

“Actually, wait,” I say. The harlequin is still out there. “Blackwall, will you take her to Cullen?”

“Of course, Inquisitor. This way, miss.”

“Thank you,” I smile at him. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you,” she cries, walking beside him.

“It’s alright now, miss,” Blackwall says, leading her out.

I press against the wall tiredly. “Think anyone would mind if I just collapsed and slept here for eighty years?” I sigh.

“Almost done, Snow,” Varric chuckles.

“Please tell me you’re tired, too.”

“Well, no, but I haven’t been running around all night like you.”

“That is an excellent point,” I nod, rubbing my shoulder.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” Solas murmurs.

“Probably just dislocated it,” I joke pushing off the wall. “Onwards and upwards,” I add, smirking at Varric when he chuckles. 

I exit the room, the others in tow, and climb up a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. We reach a room in disarray. Scaffolding lines the walls, sheets have been thrown over permanent fixtures in the hall, and a fine layer of dust covers everything.

“Mm, what do we—”

A shuddering, muffled explosion cuts off my joke, and my hand flares.

“Shit,” I grumble, clenching my fist.

I burst through the door, jogging into a garden—the Royal Wing Garden—

In time to see two dozen men aim two dozen bows at me with two dozen arrows drawn tight.

“Fantastic,” I breathe.

The slit in the Veil is small and closed but not sealed. It hurts my hand standing in its presence. It wouldn’t take much to open it, if it comes to that.

“Inquisitor!" I look up at the balcony above as a woman leans against the railing. She smiles down at me. "What a pleasure. I wasn’t certain you’d attend.”

“What can I say, Duchess Florianne? I’m a people person.”

I move my left hand behind my back a little, hiding the way it flickers and spasms. I clench my fingers, moving my head to see Solas a single step back to my left and Varric and Cassandra flanking my right side. Shit. I was hoping they were safe. Complicates matters.

“You’re such a challenge to read,” Florianne muses, leaning against the balcony with both hands spread. “I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

“Here I was thinking _I _was having a busy night. Tell me, how much _did _the harlequin cost?”

Florianne offers a wry smile under her mask. “Such a pity. You could almost be Orlesian, if you were just a little quicker. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling.”

“As I said, I aim to please.”

“Mm. Corypheus insisted that the empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“It’s his eyes, isn’t it? They’re so persuasive. Try as I might, I just can’t match his intensity.” The Veil is slim, but I can see and feel it growing slowly. If I stall a little and let it expand, it won’t take so much out of me to open. “Out of curiosity, since you’re gonna kill me, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. You may have interfered with the Game, but we are civilized. This is Orlais, after all.”

“Right. So, you’re Orlesian royalty, yeah? Why would you want Corypheus to disassemble your empire?”

She tsks. “You think so small, Inquisitor. Why settle for an empire when Corypheus will remake the entire world?”

I nod. “Yeah, you’re—see, you’re kind of making my point for me. Why would you—”

“You could not possibly understand, Inquisitor,” she sighs. “I admit, though, I will _relish_ the look on Gaspard’s face when he realizes I’ve outplayed him. He always _was _a sore loser.”

I flex my hand behind my back, feeling the magic hum underneath my skin. A slow ache burns along my bones. In this case, it’s a good sign. It’s almost ready. “Why kill the empress? What does Corypheus want to achieve?” An answer I already know, of course.

“Celene’s death is a stepping stone on the path to a better world. Corypheus will enter the Black City and claim the godhood waiting for him. We will cast down your useless Maker and usher in a united world, guided by the hand of an attentive god who—”

I laugh loudly, interrupting her. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just—there’s a couple holes in that plan, but…no, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Go on.”

“You have so little time, Inquisitor, and you use it so poorly.”

“I know, I know, I’m ungrateful. One more question, Your Grace: What’s in this for you?”

She chuckles. “The world, of course!”

“Mm…yes, the one…Corypheus intends to destroy?”

“I’ll deliver the entire south of Thedas, and Corypheus will save me.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“_Just_ you? Just Florianne de Chalons?”

“When he has ascended to godhood, I will rule all Thedas in his name.”

I smirk. “That’s…interesting you say that. So—definitely killing the empress _tonight_?”

“As I said, I would hate to disappoint.”

“Ah, don’t worry, he’ll get used to it.”

“Not today, I think. In their darkest dreams, no one imagined I would assassinate Celene myself. Would you like to know the most beautiful part of this whole thing, Inquisitor?”

I fight a wince, holding my breath at a spike of pain. “Please,” I say, my voice a little strained. I flex my shaking fingers behind my back, releasing a quiet breath.

“She’s gonna open the tear,” Varric whispers behind me. “Get ready.”

“I know that, dwarf,” Cassandra whispers back.

“Just can’t win with you, Seeker.”

Florianne smiles down at me. “My plan was to kill Celene tonight, but you have given me so much more than I ever could have hoped for. Not only do I rid Orlais of its empress for my master, but I remove his biggest opponent, the world’s so-called savior. You, Inquisitor, made the foolish mistake of bringing not only yourself to this party of mine but every core member of your organization." My heart stops. "_That _is how I know you are not Orlesian. You’ve brought your commander, spymaster, and ambassador to my doorstep as thoughtlessly as a child drags in mud on his shoes. Without you four, there is no Inquisition. So, after I kill Celene, I will attend to the three of them myself.”

My chest tightens. “Rather uncalled for,” I mumble.

“All I have to do is keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years. Kill her,” she calls to her men. “And bring me her marked hand. It will make a fine gift for my master,” she adds as she walks away.

I turn back in time to launch myself at Solas, taking him down with me as the arrows launch from their bows. I duck from him just as fast, diving away to take the arrows with me around the left as Varric and Cassandra hit the ground. An arrow cuts across my shoulder as I land, the sting shocking me. I throw out my left hand, and the ache thrums across my skin, flaming as the rift explodes open. Demons roar through it like they were waiting, and Florianne's men stumble back, their arrows flying wildly into the air.

The demons turn on the other men first, one problem distracting another. Cassandra pulls me to my feet, pushing me behind her. I throw up my hand again, gripping the rift. The demons make short work of the grand duchess’ best, and then they turn on us. The rift hums and shudders as I try to find its edges. I flinch, the roar echoing in my ears. Cassandra stays in front of me, one of her arms thrust out over me as her right hand clenches her sword tightly, swinging powerfully at anything that comes close to us. Solas’ magic flies across the garden, freezing and burning demons as they race towards. I grip my wrist, willing it to hurry as Varric grabs a bow and a quiver from one of the bodies. The rift screeches in anger, recoiling and shuddering in the air. The sound deafens me until it finally plateaus. The rift flares brilliantly and then seals.

I groan, bending at the waist and clenching my hand as fire burns wildly across my skin. Involuntary tears spring to my eyes, and I gasp, stepping back as Cassandra cuts down the last demon. Solas jogs to me, clasping my hand gently but securely.

“Got a live one,” I say through clenched teeth, gesturing with my chin. “Cass, could you bring him over here...please?”

Cassandra nods, glancing worriedly at my hand as Solas works. She grabs the man and drags him over unceremoniously. I relax as Solas finishes and stand up straight, nodding at him gratefully. He moves his hands to my shoulder, and I glance down, disappointed to see blood staining the robes in long, thick lines. The cut looks deep—deeper than I thought—and I wince as Solas murmurs his spell. My arm grows numb as my skin stitches itself back together swiftly.

I turn to the man on the ground, raising an eyebrow at him. I realize his hands are tied behind his back, and I frown. Not the duchess’ man, then. I gesture to him, and Cassandra cuts his bindings.

“Andraste’s tits!” the man complains, pulling the gag from his mouth as he stands. “What was all that? Where those demons?! There aren’t any more blasted demons coming, right?”

“Yeah, no, sorry about that,” I mumble.

“Maker bless me! How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace?”

“That was…_technically _my doing, but—uh, semantics. You know how it is—”

“I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’d feed me to the fucking horrors over a damned bill!”

“Oh, so you really _do _work for Gaspard? I thought Florianne was lying about that. He lured you out here?”

“Well, his sister, but it had to come from him, didn’t it?”

I frown at him. “Were you even listening?”

“To what?

“To wha—to _her_! She just laid out her whole evil plan for like five minutes.”

“Who?”

“Florianne!”

“What?! No! I just woke up when the demons started attacking everyone!”

“Oh, in that case, the demons _weren’t _my fault. That was her, too.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra sighs, shaking her head.

“You’re Ferelden?” I ask the man. “I thought you were one of Gaspard’s men?”

“Sure, a mercenary he hired—don’t have to be from the bloomin’ capital to be a mercenary, do I?”

“No,” I smirk, “no, I suppose you don’t.” Varric chuckles at my sarcastic tone.

“Born and raised in Denerim. Looks like I should’a stayed there.”

“What were you doing?” I ask. “Thank you,” I add softly, looking at Solas as he steps back. He places his hand on my back, and I expect him to move it after a moment. I'm happy when he doesn't.

“The duke wanted to move on the palace tonight,” the man replies. “But he didn’t have enough fancy chevaliers. So, he hired me and my men. He had to offer us triple our usual pay to come to Orlais. Stinking poncy cheesemongers.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” I muse, hearing Varric snort and then cough. “What a new job?” I wonder. “One that pays better? The Inquisition can always use a good mercenary company.”

“What, you hirin'? I’m game. Anything’s better than this bullshit. You want me to talk to the empress or the court or sing a blasted song in the chantry, I’ll do it.”

“Ooh, the last one.”

He _finally _smirks. “I’ll be in the ballroom. Stinking…cheesemongers,” he repeats, storming off, pulling grass off his clothes as he grumbles under his breath.

“Good to know he’s got range,” I muse. “Right,” I add, snapping to attention. “Ballroom. Assassination.”

I jog forward until I break into a sprint through the gardens. I take the stairs down quickly, hearing the others behind me.

“Always—love it—when we run,” Varric calls.

I laugh breathlessly, hitting the wall when I slide across the floor clumsily. “Whoops—slippery, careful—”

We run up and down stairs, making our way to the vestibule. When we finally arrive, I’m gasping for air. I bend over, heaving as I march through the vestibule.

“Nothing to see here,” I rasp, earning a delirious laugh from Varric. “As you were, lords and ladies.”

“You crack me up, Snow,” Varric laughs again.

I smile, nodding at the guards at the ballroom doors. They frown at my sweaty, bloody, out-of-sorts appearance but kindly open the doors anyway.

I search the ballroom swiftly for Florianne, spotting her across the dance floor with her brother. She stops to talk with him, and I put my hands on my hips, breathing for a moment while I think of what to do.

Before I can get very far with my plan, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine rush up to me.

“Thank the Maker you’re back,” Cullen says, his eyes catching on my bloody shoulder. “Maker, what happened, are you alright?” He lifts his fingers to my arm, moving the fabric to see my skin healed.

I glance at the sleeve and wave my hand dismissively. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Solas healed it. I—”

“The empress will begin her speech soon,” Josephine says urgently. “What should we do?”

“Wait here,” I gasp, still winded. “I’m going to have a word with the grand duchess.”

“What?” Cullen whispers, bewildered. “There’s no time! The empress will begin any moment!” 

“Better make it a _quick _word. Close off the exits,” I add, brushing past him swiftly. I take the stairs down the dance floor as Briala, Gaspard, and Florianne move to the dais, oblivious to me as Celene leans against the railing above them. Florianne looks up at her, her posture entirely too cocky. I gesture to the others, turning to walk backwards as I check the stairs. Cullen waves Blackwall over, and they cover the larger stairs while Leliana and Josephine walk briskly through the crowd to get the secondary stairs.

I turn around and keep walking down the dance floor. “I think we owe the court one more show, Your Grace!” I call loudly to get everyone's attention. It works, and the couples move to the sides, confused. The room falls into hushed whispers, and Florianne turns around slowly. She looks so mad that I can’t resist a grin.

“Inquisitor,” she greets carefully, eyes livid behind her mask.

“Oh, careful, Your Grace. The eyes of every noble in the empire are upon us. Don’t forget to smile.” I move up the stairs towards her. “This is your party, after all. Wouldn’t want them to think you had lost control, would you?”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Florianne wonders, offering a tight smile, her eyes enraged.

Celene looks down in confusion while Briala and Gaspard offer somewhat annoyed expressions at the interruption.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for the intrusion. I won't be long,” I say to Celene. I look back at Florianne. “I seem to recall you saying…ah, what was it…” I clear my throat. “All you needed was to keep me out of the ballroom long enough to strike at the empress?”

Florianne glances at the nobles who stare in wonder.

“She has a flare for the dramatic,” I say to the crowd. “But, then again, so do I.” I move my arms behind my back and pace around Florianne in a slow circle. “When your archers _failed _to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” Gasps ring out around the room. “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a council emissary—poorly,” I add, “but who am I to judge?”

Gaspard turns on his sister.

“It was an ambitious plan,” I allow. “Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…all your enemies under one roof. And as you so graciously pointed out, even the Inquisition came to play,” I say, gesturing to the stairs.

Florianne looks over sharply. Varric wiggles his fingers as he stands beside Leliana. Cassandra glares intimidatingly beside Josephine. Cullen and Blackwall watch from the far end of the dance floor, their hands clasped behind their backs. Dorian and Solas stand to the side, both looking somewhat amused at my display.

Florianne turns to me anxiously. “That is very entertaining, Inquisitor, but you do not imagine anyone _believes _your wild stories?”

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin,” Celene answers before I can.

“Gaspard?” Florianne implores. “You cannot believe this! You know I would never…”

The grand duke shakes his head, looking at his sister from behind his mask with disdain. He turns around, moving up the stairs with Briala past Varric and Leliana. A pair of guards descends after them, arriving at Florianne quickly.

“Gaspard!” she cries, backing up into me. She whips around, and I offer a quick smile.

“Sorry about this round, Your Grace. I’m sure your master will be understanding. He strikes me as the patient sort,” I muse as the guards cuff her. She struggles against them, sobbing loudly as they move her quickly off the dais and through the ballroom.

I look up at Celene as she watches. “Your Majesty? A word, if you would be so kind.”

“Inquisitor,” she replies coolly, gesturing to the balcony behind her. I follow her to where Gaspard and Briala are already bickering.

“Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard,” Briala exclaims.

“_You’re _the spymaster,” Gaspard replies lazily. “If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you.”

Briala scoffs. “You don’t even deny your involvement?”

“I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne’s plans! But _you_…you knew it all and did nothing!”

Briala laughs bitterly. “I don’t know which is better, that you think I’m all-seeing or that you’re trying so hard to play innocent…and failing.”

“Enough!” Celene orders, stopping between them. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation. For the safety of the empire, I will have answers.”

I make an intrigued face at a plate of grapes beside me, pulling one off the stem. I pop it into my mouth, glancing up to see the others watching me. “Oh, is it my turn?” I muse, picking up the bunch of grapes. “These are very good, by the way.” I turn around and lean against the railing, crossing one ankle over the other. “Let’s see…where to begin…” I take off another grape. “Well, we’ll hit the headline first, I suppose. Every one of you is implicated. You all conspired to allow this to happen.”

Celene stares at me evenly, her face more of a mask than the silver plate covering her. “That is a bold claim, Inquisitor. Are you prepared to defend it?”

I swallow the grape, nodding. “Oh yeah. I’ve been all over tonight. Firstly, Gaspard here—good ol’ Gaspard…he brought hired mercenaries and chevaliers into the palace for a coup. I have the word of the mercenary captain he hired, as well as the company itself. They’re just over…where are they, oh, there they are,” I muse, glancing past Celene and waving at the mercenary captain beside Cullen and Leliana. They wait near Solas, who watches me with an amused, adoring expression, seemingly entertained by my stance with the highest powers in Orlais.

“Oh, Gaspard,” Briala sighs, glancing at mercenary captain. “So predictable. Brutality really is your only talent.”

I nod, chewing another grape. “True, but you don’t come out looking great, Briala. You _did _murder those ambassadors and forge all those documents to serve your own interests.”

“So what if I did?” she demands. “Take me down, and elves with riot in every city in the empire.”

I pop off another grape. “They won’t, actually—not when they learn you were sleeping with the woman who purged Halamshiral’s alienage. See that _dashing _elf over there?” I muse, point at Solas with a wave. “Right behind him, you might just recognize the woman you tried to have killed tonight.” I shrug chewing and swallowing slowly before I free another grape. “Which brings us to Celene. You knew of Gaspard’s coup and let it go far enough to hang him for treason.” Gaspard turns on me in shock. “Oh, yeah,” I nod. “She’s known about your plans all night. She had her guards waiting around the palace. The moment you struck, she would going to have you arrested. Clever, really.”

“You’ve made your point,” Celene says slowly, her tone so angry and cold that I don’t recognize it as hers. “What do you want?”

“Firstly, I’d like to know where you got these grapes. Secondly, if you don’t want all your dirty laundry aired out for your beloved nation to see, you’ll work together.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me. No more civil war, no more bickering, no more plots and ploys and backstabbing and betrayals. You’ll play nice for now, because there’s something much worse coming. You three idiots were so busy plotting against each other that you didn’t even see your own sister or cousin or…” I squint at Briala. “…whatever Florianne was to you—none of you realized she was working for a madman bent on destroying the world. So, you’ll work together.”

“You realize this can only end in disaster?” Briala demands angrily, her voice high.

“Any single one of your plans would have ended in disaster,” I reply. “This is a controlled chaos. You’ll work it out, I’m sure. This is called a good old-fashioned truce, and, unless I am mistaken, this _was _the official reason behind your negotiations?”

“Fine, Inquisitor,” Celene says. “We will address the court as such. As you have…” She clears her throat, as if resisting the words. “As you have not only saved my life but…ended…our civil war, it is only right that you stand with us. Come. Let us end this war tonight.”

Briala heaves a heavy sigh. I grab one last grape, dropping the bunch on the plate again. “I cannot believe you want to make a speech,” she grumbles. “This is foolish.”

“We have no choice,” Celene replies, her empress voice back with a vengeance. “The nobility require an answer for what happened.”

Gaspard hums a quiet laugh. “Unless you want to pretend the war was all a dream? That would go over well. No more dithering. We make the cut swift and clean. Kindest to us all.”

“This is great,” I smile. “You guys are already getting along.”

They all ignore me, to their individual credits. I follow them to the dais, folding my hands behind my back. Celene stands with Gaspard, waving as the crowd applauds and cheers their arrival. Briala leans against a column nearby, watching unhappily. I step back from Celene, present but not front and center. 

“Lords and ladies of the court,” Celene calls, her tone mirthful and elegant again, “we are pleased to announce that an accord has been reached! Our cousin Gaspard will now hold a place of honor in our cabinet.” Gasps round the room as Celene announces the fact so gracefully that you’d think she was actually happy about it.

“Friends,” Gaspard calls, waving his hand. “We assembled are the leaders of the empire. We must set the example for all Thedas. We cannot be at war with each other while the Fade itself challenges our borders!” Celene watches her cousin with a regal smile, nodding to the crowd in full support. Everything about her suggests she is pleased with the result of tonight and relieved to be done with the war—everything but her hands clasped behind her back, her nails digging bloody crescents into her palms.

The empress stands straighter. “We must stand united, or surely we will fall alone. We will heal our wounded country. A long road of reconstruction lies before us. But tonight, we celebrate the arrival of peace! Let the festivities commence!”

***

The crowd is _still _cheering and clapping and laughing and drinking and toasting, my gods, the _toasting_. _How _are they still—

I glance behind me, grateful that I’ve escaped unseen. It has been three _painful _hours since Celene announced the accord. I swear to Mythal she made me stand up there just so that the next three hours of my life would be consumed with every noble and their brother—literally!—coming to me to either complain or, as was more often the case, praise the peaceful conclusion.

Ten minutes ago, I managed to duck into a crowd and disappear, re-emerging on a dark, peaceful, _quiet_ balcony. The band’s music drifts onto the verandah, and I listen to it, and the crowd, as I lean against the railing, out of sight.

Or, at least, I _thought _I was out of sight. Therefore, it surprises me greatly when Morrigan starts talking.

“The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?” she hums, coming to a stop beside me. I stand up, leaning my hip against the railing as I look at her. “Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? ‘Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf.”

“I would have stayed,” I sigh, “but the punch ran dry.” I shake my head. “Can you believe the nerve?”

Morrigan offers a surprised laugh. “Indeed? Mm, let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly. By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid—including mine…Congratulations.”

I smile before noting her tone. “I’m sorry if that decision was made _for _you, but the Inquisition would be honored to have you.”

“A most gracious response,” Morrigan nods, pleased. “I shall meet you, then, at Skyhold.” She moves away from me towards the party again.

I turn and sigh, leaning against the railing once more.

I look over the edge, down to the forest below before wincing. Long way down. I look back up to the mountains far in the distance, large and thick and green. The moon casts a bright glow over the terrace, and a cool breeze ruffles my hair, making it tickle my cheeks. I brush it behind my ears, sighing out again.

Someone walks up behind me onto the balcony, and I know it’s Solas without needing to turn around. He leans against the railing beside me, his arm brushing against mine as he looks over at me. “I’m not surprised to find you out here,” he murmurs softly. He shifts, resting his hand against the small of my back. It feels so warm and welcome that I close my eyes. “Are you alright?”

“It…” I sigh, stepping closer to him. “…has been a _very _long evening. But it went well, I think. At least, it didn’t _completely_ blow up in my face, which is a nice improvement on my usual luck.”

Solas offers an amused smile that I watch for a second too long. “You did very well. I don’t think it could have worked out better.”

“Celene refused to tell me where she got the grapes,” I sigh regrettably.

A surprised laugh bursts from him quietly.

“What?” I grin.

“You just always surprise me. You never say what I expect.”

“I suppose I _am _rather delightful, aren’t I?” I sigh again.

He grins and stands. “Come,” he murmurs, “before the band stops playing. Dance with me.” He bends at the waist, offering his hand formally.

My heart races at the sight. “Oh, alright,” I say, feigning levity even as my cheeks flush richly.

He grins wider as I take his hand. He pulls me closer to him gently, resting one of his hands on my waist. I smile, moving my hand to his shoulder as he clasps my other fingers.

“Why thank you, good sir,” I say in my best Orlesian accent. “Can you _believe _Lady Balderdash brought her _cousin’s son’s sister’s brother-in-law _to the ball? Has she no _standards_?!”

Solas laughs, his hand tightening on my back as he pulls me a step closer to him. He moves us slowly, grinning as he shakes his head at me affectionately. 

“Hmm, you’ve done this before,” I tease, glancing between us to our feet as I follow his lead. He moves confidently, his steps sure and practiced. 

His eyes find mind adoringly. “As have you.”

“Well, you may recall my long sessions with Josephine. We were _not _deciding the fates of nations. She was teaching me to dance. It took many hours. Bones were broken, vases knocked over—”

Solas laughs again, shaking me.

“I’ll admit, she’s a good dancer, but you?” I smile. “I should have come to you for help.”

“I would have been happy to teach you,” he murmurs, his eyes dancing between mine.

“I'll take it the offer still stands, and I graciously accept, because I am still terrible.”

“You are wonderful.”

“Stop it, or I’m going to kiss you again.”

Solas smiles at me, offering another affectionate look. His eyes grow sad after a moment. “So many things could have been different,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Dozens of coincidences, hundreds of decisions, thousands of possibilities…To be standing here with you…” He shakes his heads, his eyes distant.

I see the sadness in his eyes, and I make a quick decision as to how to handle it. “Solas…you can enter the Fade, right?”

He looks at me, confused. “Of course.”

“And see things that no one else can see?”

“Sometimes.”

“You can…understand how things happened, how they may have come to be?”

He nods slightly, his eyebrows pulling together a little.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Can you please find out where Celene got those grapes?”

A surprised laugh bursts from Solas’ chest, clearing the sadness from his eyes, and I grin as he pulls me closer. He shakes his head, grinning broadly as he laughs again. I chuckle at the wonderful sound, moving my arm around his back to rest my hand on his shoulder. I close the last little gap between us, pressing close to him. I look up at him, my eyes flitting between his.

“I’m serious,” I whisper.

He laughs again, smiling radiantly as he looks down at me. “You are…impossible, vhenan.”

I nod. “That is correct, ma lath.”

The band plays a quicker tune, and the crowd laughs in excitement. I don't look away from Solas, admiring the curve of his smile as we sway slowly to the upbeat tune. His eyes are unbearably adoring and sweet. My gaze falls to his lips, and I lean up to kiss him. He returns it tenderly, his feet guiding our slow revolution.

He pulls back before I get carried away—a wise precaution. He offers a private smile, looking away from me briefly.

“What?” I wonder, smiling, too.

“Nothing…It’s just…There are spirits hovering by the Veil to observe the thrones of powerful nations—the machinations, betrayals…After our time here, I understand why. I had forgotten how much I missed court intrigue.”

I glance up at him, smirking before I realize he’s serious. “You _miss _court intrigue?” I repeat. “When were you at court before?”

He falters, blinking as he looks down at me again. “Oh—well, never _directly_, of course. An elven apostate is rarely invited to speak with empresses and kings,” he chuckles. “But, from the Fade, I watch dynasties form and empires crumble. It is sometimes savage, sometimes noble. And always fascinating.”

I grin. “Well, I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

Solas clears his throat, offering a tight laugh. “Political gambits, broken promises, half-truths? It is a palace _full _of motivation, and motivation is where great things happen. In any event, Celene should now prove a steadfast ally, especially after helping her form a truce.”

“I can officially check off ‘stop a civil war’ from my to-do list.”

Solas chuckles.

“Still, I…I _am_ sorry we couldn’t do more for Briala. Are you…disappointed in me for that?”

“No?” Solas murmurs, looking down at me in confusion. “Why would I disapprove of—oh, because she and I are both elves.” He offers another quiet laugh. “I’m sorry, I was confused. I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves.”

“Nor should you,” I reply. “You’re not defined by the shape of your ears. That doesn’t make us your people.”

His eyes catch on mine when I inadvertently separate us, but I don't try to take it take. “No,” he agrees softly. “It does not.”

“Who _do _you consider your people?” I wonder.

He smiles gently. “A good question.”

I laugh. “And one you’re not going to answer—alright, alright, fair enough, ma lath, fair enough.”

Solas gives me another soft look, speaking quietly. “I joined the Inquisition to save the world. Regardless of who…my people are, this was the best way to help them. As for the elves of Orlais, I believe Briala is doing quite well on their behalf. She is an admirable woman, to be certain.”

I nod in agreement. “And _you _are an admirable man. Not many people know who they are the way you do. You always inspire me to…be stronger in that regard.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, looking at me again seriously. “Both for saying and…seeing it. Few in this world can see me.”

“Then I’m honored you allow me to,” I whisper.

“Perhaps against reason,” he sighs.

“Oh, pish posh. What’s the worst that can happen? Unless you throw me off the balcony…That _would _be a surprising twist to the evening, and I thought we were all full up on those.”

Solas rolls his eyes. “Vhenan.”

“Solas,” I return, deepening my voice playfully.

He gives me an amused look. “You are…” He hesitates, his eyes dancing between mine languidly.

“Dashing? Hilarious? Wonderful? _Sensational_?!”

His lips thicken with a smile. “All of those, yes, but I was _going _to say beautiful.”

I feel my cheeks flame. The way he forms the word—so reverently—makes it sound more meaningful than any word in my vocabulary, and it dumbfounds the part of my brain that tries to dismiss everything with a joke. I look up at him, feeling the warmth spread down from my cheeks to my chest. We sway more slowly, barely moving as he releases my hand to find my cheek. I drape my fingers loosely around his wrist as he arcs his thumb deferentially across my skin, overwhelming me once more. He moves his head down slowly, and I wait, closing my eyes when he presses his lips to mine. The kiss is so tender, so gentle that it feels like another admission. I realize after a moment that my eyes are flooding as the emotion envelopes me, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed with the sheer terror of losing him. 

I tighten my grip on him, breathing out quietly as he kisses me. His thumb arcs over my cheek again, his fingers so gentle on me that I’d think he was afraid of hurting me. I keep my eyes closed when he pulls back, and he kisses my forehead, his lips resting against my skin for a long moment. When he disappears, I tuck my head against his shoulder, pressing my forehead to his neck, still clinging to his wrist as he holds my cheek.

“Ar lath ma,” I whisper.

He repeats it so softly that it makes my eyes well again. I cling to him tightly, and we move in a slow circle. I send out a silent prayer of thanks to Mythal or Sylaise or whoever it was that led me to him. As he indicated, so many things could have happened so very differently, and I shudder to imagine a world in which I’m not wrapped in Solas’ gentle embrace, softly swaying to the beat of an Orlesian band as the moons shines down upon us.


	39. Subjected to His Will

It only takes a full day of travel for us to return to Skyhold. Cullen offers for me to travel on ahead, but I remain with the rest of the soldiers for the sake of camaraderie or something. Josephine and Leliana travel ahead, however, and when I return to Skyhold, I see Josephine arguing quietly with a chantry mother.

“…is urgent, Lady Josephine!” the mother says irritably.

“I am well aware of that, Revered Mother,” Josephine replies patiently. 

“We will need them to return to Val Royeaux as soon as possible. There are ceremonies—ordinations! Maker’s mercy!”

I move towards them, hoping to pass up the stairs to the main hall without being seen. I admire the view away from them in the hopes of remaining unrecognized.

“That is quite impossible at the moment,” Josephine says. “However, I will see to this matter as soon as possible, I assure—”

“My lady Inquisitor!”

Shit.

I turn around with a smile. “Yes?”

“Please,” the mother says, waving me over. “May I have a word with you?”

Josephine looks back at me with a note of irritation at being passed over.

“Forgive me, Revered Mother,” I murmur, “but I stand by Ambassador Montilyet in her decisions. If she has given you an answer, you will not find a different one with me.”

“I am _sorry _to place this burden on your shoulders, Inquisitor,” the mother says, “but you are the _only_ one who can help.”

Josephine folds her hands tightly.

“That’s what they all say,” I muse.

The mother stares at me imploringly. “With the political turmoil put to rest, our minds turn to a single question: the next Divine.”

I throw a questioning glance at Josephine. “I fear there are a few more…pressing questions, but—”

“We cannot answer the question of Divine without the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V. They must come with me.”

I choke. “You—are you serious? Cassandra and Leliana are two _vital _members of the Inquisition.”

“Indeed,” Josephine nods, pleased. “As I said, Revered Mother.”

“But surely with the support of the empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls.”

“These are by no means two ordinary souls. They are two of the five core members of the Inquisition. Removing them,” I say louder when the mother tries to interrupt me, “would be akin to losing two of our limbs. I’m sorry, Revered Mother, but Josephine has given you the Inquisition’s final answer.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Josephine replies. “Revered Mother, we are sympathetic to your plight, but we cannot spare them at this time. Perhaps when Corypheus is—”

“By then it may be too late!”

“This will have to be settled another time,” Josephine says, her tone final. “The Inquisitor has only just returned from Halamshiral and has important business to attend to. You must excuse us, Revered Mother.”

The mother stares at Josephine and then at me, as if to change our minds. When we hold firm, she sighs and turns away, moving quickly through the courtyard.

“My apologies, Inquisitor,” Josephine sighs, rubbing her forehead. “She simply would not take my answer. Don’t let her detract from your victory at the Winter Palace. Gaining the support of the empire is an enormous triumph.”

“Are you alright, Josie?” I murmur.

“Yes,” she sighs, rubbing her temple again. “It has simply been…stressful preparing for the masquerade.”

“Come,” I say. “Let’s take a break.”

“And do what, Inquisitor?”

“Whatever you want! It’s Josephine’s day. We can talk, drink, throw things off the balconies at nobles as they walk by…”

Josephine laughs, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, alright! I have time for a small break.”

“There we go, Josie. I knew the last one would get you.”

She giggles again, walking with her hands clasped behind her back. “Perhaps a short stroll on the battlements would be relaxing.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

She smiles as we mount the stairs. “So…Inquisitor…may I ask you something?”

“I wish you would,” I reply, making her laugh again.

“It’s rather personal.”

“Ooh, my favorite kind.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she murmurs. “You can stop me if I bother you!”

“Oh, I will,” I promise ominously, glancing pointedly at the walls beside me.

Josephine laughs loudly, the sound light and free. “It's just that I’ve…noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with a certain…elven mage.”

I laugh, blushing as I look away. I try several jokes, each one failing before I finally give up.

She grins at my reaction. “Oh, I’m so delighted. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Josie,” I say, ducking my head.

“He makes you happy?”

“Very,” I smile, laughing awkwardly once. “He’s brilliant and wise and, you know…ah—I don’t know. He’s…different from anyone I’ve never known. He’s sweet and gentle and…special—I don’t know,” I say again, blushing at my idiotic words.

Josephine giggles and takes my arm. “Oh, I’m so happy you’ve found each other in this madness. That is a rare and wonderful thing.”

I nod and grin at her. “Sure, and what about you and Blackwall, then, hm?”

She huffs, turning to look in another direction. “I—do not know what you mean, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t play _coy_, Josie,” I laugh. “I’ve seen you two.”

“I—cannot imagine what you think you’ve seen, but I _assure _you—” She waves a vague hand, her cheeks reddening.

I grin, pulling her with me. “I think you and—” Cole suddenly appears before us, and I gasp, jerking back as Josephine cries out. “Cole!” I sigh.

“I am sorry,” he says quietly. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“We talked about this, Cole,” I sigh again, resting my hand over my heart. “Is something wrong?”

He holds his hand out, offering me something. A silver and black amulet. A large onyx stone sits in the center, its edges translucent in the sunlight. 

“It’s here already?” I frown. “Huh. That was fast. Let’s go find Solas.”

“Yes, please.”

“Josie, would you excuse—”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” she smiles with a nod.

“To be continued,” I add with a pointed look that makes her blush and laugh. “C’mon, Cole.”

He walks so briskly that I have to jog to keep up, but I do appreciate that he waits for me when he could just appear in Solas’ study well ahead of me.

Varric looks up at us from the table outside the atrium. “Hey, Snow. Hey, kid. Where's the fire?” he adds.

“Hi, Varric,” I gasp. “In a hurry—evidently.”

Varric chuckles as Cole wrenches the door open, and I follow breathlessly.

Solas is leaning over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“What do I do with it?” Cole asks without hesitation.

Solas glances up, his expression slow to recognize us at first. He closes the book, pushing off his desk. “You found one of the amulets? Excellent. May I?” he asks, holding his hand out, smiling at me.

I offer it to him carefully, still panting a little.

Solas admires the amulet, turning it slowly in his hands. “It is simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected.”

“Are you ready, Cole?” I ask softly.

Cole looks down. “They can’t make me a monster.”

Solas nods.

“Your hat, Cole,” I say quietly.

“Oh…” He takes it off, and my eyes trail over his long, pale hair. I smile warmly at him, feeling a surge of concern. Solas moves the amulet over Cole’s head, letting it settle on his chest as the boy puts his hat back on.

Solas presses his fingers to the onyx, closing his eyes in concentration. I watch in awe as his hand glows a cobalt blue, energy moving gracefully from him to the amulet. I smile softly, entranced.

Solas’ eyes suddenly flash open in alarm, and a second later, magic bursts wide, a powerful explosion knocking me down and making Cole stumble backwards as he cries out.

“Cole!” I exclaim as Solas helps me up swiftly. “Are you alright?”

“What was that?” Varric calls, jogging in quickly. He takes one look around and frowns. “Oh, for—what are you doing to the kid?”

Cole looks at him miserably. “Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant. But it didn’t work!”

Solas folds his arms behind his back, his expression confused. “Something is interfering with the enchantment.”

Varric crosses his arms. “Something like Cole _not_ being a demon?” he suggests.

I bite my lip. “Cole looks like us, but his abilities are not that of a human, Varric,” I say softly.

“No one in this room is _human_,” Varric replies.

Solas shifts his stance. “Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit.”

“Yes,” Varric replies slowly, “a spirit who is strangely like a person!” 

Cole pushes away from me when I reach for him, and he charges across the room in frustration. Solas follows him quickly, and I join them. “_I _don’t matter,” Cole exclaims. “Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow!”

“Cole,” I murmur.

“_Focus _on the amulet,” Solas instructs. “Tell me what you feel.”

Cole goes quiet, his head bent, his shoulders low. I look at Solas concernedly. “Warm,” Cole whispers. “Soft blanket covering, but i-it catches, tears. I’m the wrong shape. There’s…something…” He looks up, turning around. “There,” he says pointing across the room at the wall—_through _the wall. “That way.”

I nod. “We’ll find whatever is preventing the amulet from working, and we’ll make it right, Cole, I promise.”

“Alright, kid,” Varric agrees. “Go find Cullen and bring him here, and we’ll work on a map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.”

Cole looks up at us shyly. “Will…will you come with me? All of you?”

“Of course, Cole,” I murmur immediately. “We’re with you.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Go find Cullen,” Varric repeats gently. “We’ll be right here.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Cole disappears, and I smirk, certain Cullen will be pleased with that.

Varric turns on Solas. “Alright, I get it,” he muses. “You _like _spirits. But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.”

“Varric,” I murmur. “Cole _is _a spirit. He came through to help, but he has magical abilities and…magical _vulnerabilities_. We can’t ignore that.”

“Fair enough, Snow,” Varric allows, “but that ritual of theirs only works on _demons_, right?”

Solas looks at him. “This is not some fanciful story, child of the stone. We cannot change our nature simply by wishing.”

“You don’t think?”

Solas starts to answer but hesitates before continuing. “However we deal with the problem, our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment.”

Varric nods, folding his arms across his chest.

“…next time, alright?” Cullen says, his voice kind as they enter.

“Sorry…” Cole murmurs miserably.

“Are you alright?” I laugh quietly, glancing at Cullen as he buttons up his shirt swiftly.

“He was drinking tea,” Cole says, looking down.

I laugh louder than I mean to, and Cullen glances up at me, smirking. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” I chuckle, waving my hand. “That’s not funny.” 

He shakes his head, smirking again. “It’s alright, you can laugh.”

I grin, chuckling again. “Did it burn you? I can—”

“N-no, it’s alright,” Cullen says quickly, looking away. “What is this about?”

“Did you bring a map?” Varric wonders.

Cullen pulls it out from under his arm.

“Ooh, may I?” I say, reaching for it. Cullen smirks and hands it over, and I glance at Solas, grinning for permission to do the honors. He gives me a warm smile, his eyes adoring as he nods. “Yes,” I whisper excitedly, spreading the map out. I kneel down on the floor, sitting up straight as I spread it out. “Cole, Cullen, c’mere, you two.”

Cole sits beside me, folding his legs under him as he slumps. Cullen kneels across from us, frowning.

“Cole...didn't explain what we’re doing, did he?” I ask, smiling at the commander's confusion.

“No, he just asked for a map.”

I grin affectionately at Cole and then sit up straighter, looking at Cullen again. He glances away before meeting my eyes with difficulty. I falter a little. “_Are_ you alright?” I murmur. “If he burned you, let me—”

“No, it’s alright. Sorry. Just—have a lot of things on my mind. Tell me,” he says softly, gesturing to the map.

“Okay, we’re trying to help Cole avoid a binding ritual, like the ones at Adamant. This amulet is supposed to work, but something is interfering. Cole says it’s in that direction,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.

“_That_ direction?” Cullen repeats, glancing behind me. “That’s—”

“Why we have the map, Curly,” Varric chuckles, sitting beside the commander.

“Where do you think it is, Cole?” I murmur as Solas kneels next to me, his arm brushing mine. I turn briefly to smile at him before returning to Cole.

Cole looks down at the map. “It’s that way,” he says again, pointing behind us.

“Any location on the map ring a bell?” Varric wonders.

“That way.”

“Alright, kid, I have an idea. How far away is it?” 

Cole’s expression turns thoughtful. “Far…but not too far.”

“Cullen, you have a quill?”

“There’s one on my desk,” Solas replies.

“Ooh, I got it!” I sing eagerly, hopping up. I lean over the desk and pluck it up off his scattered papers. His notes are written in an elegant, scrawling elven that I enviously stare at for several seconds. I turn around to see Solas admiring me with an affectionate smile that I return broadly. I stand next to him, bending over to reach Varric’s hand without stepping on the map. Varric smiles gratefully, staring distractedly at the many cities and towns in 'that' direction. I glance at Cullen to see him look way sharply from me, his cheeks reddening. I frown slightly, chewing my cheek as I settle back down. Did I do something? He doesn’t _seem _upset. 

Solas rubs my back absently, watching Cole.

“Point to where it is again, kid,” Varric says.

Cole points over my shoulder.

“That’s…what, southeast, right?” Varric asks. “This way?” he traces a line on the map loosely.

“That looks right,” Cullen nods.

“Oh, clever,” I muse, sitting up straighter as I reach for Cole’s still-pointing hand. “This way, not this way or this way?” I ask, moving his wrist gently more north and south.

“No,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Just that way.”

“That’s good, kid,” Varric says, lengthening the line.

I turn my head, angling to read the map upside down. The line runs from Skyhold through Raines and Redcliffe down to the Korcari Wilds.

“Here’s hoping it’s not that far south,” I mumble as Varric finishes the line. He smirks up at me.

“How close, kid?” he asks. “Further than the Hinterlands?”

“No…closer…”

“Here?”

“No…”

“Here?”

“That’s too far…”

“Lake Calenhad?” I ask, pointing.

“Maybe…”

“Here?”

“That’s too close.”

“What about Raines?”

Cole blinks, cocking his head. “Yes. Maybe.”

I throw my hands up victoriously. “Ha! Take that, Varric.”

He scoffs, grinning. “It was _my _idea.”

I wave my hand at him. “Alright, let’s go.”

“Now?” Cole asks hopefully.

“Yes,” I reply, looking at everyone. Varric gives a firm nod, and Solas rubs my back, offering a grateful expression. “Thank you, Cullen.”

He chuckles quietly. “I did nothing.”

“_You _brought the map, of course,” I grin. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He glances up at me, smiling before he looks down again to roll the map back up.

Solas rises, offering a hand.

“Thank you, kind young man,” I say, gasping like an old woman, which rewards me with his adoring smile.

I turn, bending at the waist to hold my hands out to Cole as I try to peer under his hat at him. “Come on, Cole,” I murmur with an affectionate smile. “Let’s go.” He takes my hands, and I pull him up, patting his shoulder. “We’ll get this sorted, alright?”

“Thank you.”

I turn back to see Cullen looking away, his cheek a little red again. I feel my chest tighten, concern flitting through me like lightning. Is he feeling unwell from the withdrawal?

“Cullen, I—” I glance at Varric and Solas. “Just a second,” I smile at them both. “Cullen, can I speak with you? In the hall?”

He looks up at me sharply. “I—yes, Inquisitor. Of course.”

I take his arm, guiding him to the small area between Solas’ door and the door to the main hall. “Are you alright?” I ask, searching his eyes as he avoids mine.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“If you—need anything, you can tell me,” I say. “What you’re doing with the lyrium…”

“What?” he asks, looking at me. “Oh—oh, yes, the—no. No, I’m fine.” His eyes fall, and he looks away again.

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” 

“Alright, let me know if that changes. If you need me for anything, just say the word. I know it can’t be easy.”

“I appreciate that, Inquisitor,” he says, looking at me again sincerely. “That’s—very kind. I’m alright.”

“Okay. Thank you for the map,” I add with a grin, walking back into the room. “Sorry for the ink marks.”

He laughs quietly behind me, and I fold my hands behind my back, grinning at Solas.

“Are we ready or what?” I demand.

“Waiting on you, Snow,” Varric laughs.

“Waiting on _you_, Varric,” I reply quickly, walking past him. “C’mon, haven’t got all day, you know.”

Varric laughs, and I grin as I hear the others follow me out.

***

When we reach Raines, it’s late in the afternoon. Dozens of people move through the streets. Solas, Varric, and I tie up our mounts outside of town. Cole insisted on flitting ahead in his own anxious way, but now he hesitates, glancing into the town uncertainly.

“Do you see anything?” I wonder, coming to stand by him.

“There,” he murmurs, pointing past the buildings. Behind one, in the shadows, I see two men talking quietly.

“One of the men?” I check.

“Yes.”

A man with a mustache nods, accepting a small pouch from the darker-haired man. He pockets the pouch and nods again, walking past the buildings to the road. When he gets halfway to us, he looks up and sees us all. I smile immediately, waving once. This is awkward.

“Greetings,” he calls in a friendly, if reserved, tone. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, we—”

“You,” Cole gasps, cutting me off.

He disappears and then flits to stand before the man in the blink of an eye. The man gasps as Cole forces him to his knees, pressing a hand to his forehead, his other arm outstretched, as if to strike.

I jog forward quickly, grabbing Cole's wrist.

“You killed me!” Cole seethes, and I blink in surprise.

The man holds up his hands. “W-what? I don’t…I don’t even know you!”

“You forgot! You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and _you forgot_, and _I died _in the dark!”

“T-the Spire?”

“Cole, stop,” Solas says quickly.

Cole looks back at us, and the man gets up and runs, tripping over his boots as he struggles to get away. Cole tries to pursue him, but Varric cuts him off, holding his hands up.

“Just take it easy, kid,” Varric murmurs.

“He killed me! He _killed _me! _That’s _why it doesn’t work! He _killed _me, and I have to _kill_ him back!”

“I—h-he _what_?” I stammer, confused.

“Cole,” Solas replies urgently, “this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body.”

“A broken body,” Cole whispers, “bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts _gripping _in the dark dank—a captured apostate. They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He _starved _to _death_.” I raise my hand to my lips as Varric bows his head, closing his eyes. “I came through to help…and I couldn’t…so I became him…Cole.”

Varric sighs. “If Cole was an apostate, that’d make the guy we just saw a templar. Must’ve been buying lyrium.”

“_Let _me _kill_ him,” Cole says angrily. “I need to—I _need _to.”

Cole marches forward several steps, stopping and waiting—for permission, I realize. Varric looks up at me and Solas.

“Solas?” I murmur, uncertain.

“We cannot let Cole kill the man,” he replies, folding his hands.

“I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles,” Varric mumbles.

“Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”

“Come on,” Varric frowns, “you don’t just _forgive _someone killing you.”

“_You _don’t,” Solas agrees. “A spirit can.”

“The kid’s _angry_. He—he needs to work through it.”

“A spirit does not _work through _emotions. It embodies them!”

“But he isn’t a spirit, is he? He made himself human, and humans _change_, they-they get hurt, and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person.”

Solas stares at him, offended. “You would alter the essence of what he is.”

“He did that to himself,” Varric replies, “when he left the Fade. I’m just helping him survive it.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I don’t understand—I thought he hadn’t possessed a body.”

“The mistake was mine, vhenan, for assuming that,” Solas replies. “As the real Cole starved to death in a dungeon, his pain caught the attention of a spirit…likely one of compassion, an uncommon spirit…and all too fragile when its efforts to help proved to be in vain.”

I stare at Cole, tortured. “So the real Cole is…”

“Dead,” Solas murmurs quietly. “Yes.”

I close my eyes. “That poor boy.” I look up at Cole as he shifts, anxiously wringing his hands several feet from us. “I…I don’t know what’s right. I don’t want Cole to change, to be altered by fear or anger. Spirits…are _more_. He…he needs to forgive this.” 

Solas nods quietly. “I believe I can help.”

Varric sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all just want what’s best for the kid.”

I rub his shoulder, pulling him with me gently as I follow Solas.

“Cole,” he murmurs. “Come with me.”

We move along the road in the direction the man went. At first, I’m not certain we’ll find him again, but then I see him kneeling in the grass, his head bowed.

Cole stands in front of the man, looking uncertainly at Solas.

“Can you feel this man’s pain, Cole?” he murmurs quietly.

Cole looks to the side before staring at the man. “He remembers now. He knows he killed me,” he replies angrily.

“No,” Solas corrects softly. “Feel his pain. His guilt. The shame that drove him from the templars.”

Cole blinks, lifting his hands to play with his fingers as he studies the slumped man. The templar’s shoulders give a small shake, and my chest tightens when I realize he’s crying.

“‘Don’t worry, we’ll erase his records.’ They clap me on the shoulder, smell of oiled metal and blood. They smile like Louis did when he made me drown the kittens. Laughter bounces off the walls like a thin child’s fists.”

“I’m sorry,” the man gasps, crying harder. “I’m so sorry.”

“He’s hurting, Cole,” Solas murmurs softly. “And you are a spirit of _compassion_.”

Cole looks up at Solas and then at the man. He reaches forward, pressing his fingers to the man’s forehead. “Forget,” he whispers.

The man sits up, looking around in confusion. He stands, his expression fearful as he takes us all in. He steps backwards, his eyes unfocused before he turns to the road and walks away quickly, glancing back at us once.

Solas steps forward to place a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Well done, Cole.”

“You alright, kid?” Varric asks quietly.

“Yes,” Cole breathes. “He’s free. We’re both free. I need to…understand. I will see you at Skyhold.”

He disappears, and I blink in surprise. I should be used to it by now.

Varric sighs. “Guess we’ll meet him there.”

***

Later that evening, Varric finds Solas and me walking the battlements hand-in-hand. He asks to speak with us privately, and we follow him back to Solas’ study.

“The amulet appears to be working,” Solas says, speaking first. “Cole should be adequately protected.”

“Have you talked to him since?” Varric mumbles. “Have you _heard_ what he sounds like?”

“He sounds like a spirit,” Solas answers, his voice tired.

Cole appears on Solas’ desk, startling me. “Nonsense words, like Bartrand at the end. ‘Just need to hear the song again. Just for a minute.’” Varric frowns. “I’m _alright_, Varric,” Cole grins.

“Are you happy, Cole?” I wonder. 

“I am well,” he nods. “There is work—wounded to help, hurts to heal, but the weight is off. The old chains have fallen.”

“You’re not still angry with the man who hurt you?” Varric asks.

“No. I helped him forget. His pain no longer pulls at me…A woman with two names slips a knife in darkness to a left hand. Honey stirred into Leliana’s wine. Faith, not revenge.” He disappears quickly, and I blink.

Varric looks down. “Could’a been a person,” he whispers so softly that it makes my chest tighten.

“Possibly,” Solas replies. “Would that have made him happier, child of the stone?”

Varric glances up at Solas for a long moment and then at me as I watch him worriedly. He shrugs and walks back out of the study, closing the door behind himself quietly.

“Cole _is _happy, right?” I murmur, turning to Solas.

He smiles at me softly. “He is doing what he was meant to do. He’s found his purpose again. It is sweet of you to worry,” he adds, lifting his hand to my cheek. 

“I didn’t mean to disappoint Varric.”

“He will be fine,” Solas assures me. “What matters is that Cole is protected.”

I nod, sighing. “I’m glad he’s safe. I like Cole.”

Solas smiles again. “As do I.”

I breathe out heavily and step to Solas’ couch, falling heavily. “I’m exhausted.”

“It has been a long day,” he agrees. “To think, this morning, we had not yet made it to Skyhold.”

I groan. “Come here. I need a pillow.”

Solas grins, chuckling once as he grabs a book off his desk. He sits beside me, and I scoot over, tossing my legs over the arm of the couch. I lay back, groaning as I relax. I move my head to Solas’ leg, sighing again. He smiles down at me amusedly, brushing my hair back from my face.

“I hope you’re content to just sit there forever,” I murmur tiredly. “I’m taking a no-nonsense nap.”

Solas laughs quietly, running the backs of his fingers affectionately against my cheek.

“I’m not kidding," I yawn, shifting my hips to get more comfortable. I move halfway onto my side, letting my hips face one way while my shoulders lay flat against the couch. “You’re a comfortable pillow. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“You would be the first,” Solas muses, his voice so amused that I giggle.

“Well, don't let it go to your head, then.”

He chuckles softly in response.

“What book is that?” I wonder, gesturing vaguely with my fingers.

“A history of Antivan royalty. I’m searching something for our ambassador.”

“Mm…will you read to me?”

“It may be dry material.”

“Impossible with that baritone,” I mumble, my words slurring tiredly.

Solas laughs.

“I like it when you read to me,” I add.

Solas brushes my cheek again softly before I hear him open the book. I smile to myself, delighted as he begins to read quietly, his voice low and silky. I don’t think I even make it through the first paragraph before I fall asleep.


	40. Demands of the Qun

When I wake again, the room is silent and peaceful. I open my eyes to find Solas still reading, his expression thoughtful as he furrows his brow, invested in whatever part of the history he’s gotten to. I become aware of his hand on my arm, his thumb gently moving back and forth. I smile to myself, closing my eyes again. I breathe out slowly, enjoying the peace we so seldom seem to have. The quiet turn of the page makes me smile again, and I shift a little, rolling onto my side. Solas moves his hand up, perhaps unaware that I’m awake, and then he resettles it on my arm when I stop moving. His thumb continues it slow sweep across my skin, back and forth, back and forth.

I must fall asleep again, because when the door bursts open, it scares me badly.

I look up in the now-darkened room to see Dorian and Bull stumble in, one of them currently _consuming _the other’s tongue. My lips part in a grinning gape, and I glance up at Solas only to realize I must have slept longer than I thought, because he’s asleep, too. His fist rests against his temple, propping his head up in an unfairly regal way. Guilt and warmth flood me simultaneously that he didn’t dare move to find a more comfortable position. 

I glance back at the two pressed against the wall and then close my eyes again quickly, unwilling to embarrass either Dorian or Bull—assuming Bull _can _be embarrassed.

“Kaffas!” Dorian gasps suddenly in a whisper. “I thought they went to bed.”

“We can be quiet,” Bull rumbles quietly, and I resist the urge to scoff.

Dorian gives a disgusted noise, and then something hits the wall with a thud. Bull laughs quietly, and I imagine Dorian must have pushed him.

“Let’s go. Quick, before we wake them.”

“Whatever you want,” Bull replies, a shrug in his voice.

The door closes again more quietly, and I chuckle softly, grinning a little. Good for them.

I look back up at Solas, admiring how peaceful he looks. The book is still open below him on the couch; he must've fallen asleep while still reading.

“Solas,” I whisper softly. “Are you awake?” He doesn’t move. “Solas.” He doesn't even stir. 

I glance around the room quickly, searching for a way to make him more comfortable. I could ease him down to the couch with me, but I imagine anyone entering his study to get to the library or Leliana’s rookery wouldn’t be too pleased to walk in on us sleeping. Then again, who cares? 

The couch is wide enough for both of us, if we sleep on our sides. I sit up slowly, stretching my back, groaning breathily when it pops and aches. The thought of walking up _all _those flights of stairs overwhelms me, solidifying my decision. I pick up Solas’ book off the couch, glancing at the page number. I commit it to memory as I close and set it lightly on the floor. As gently as is humanly possible, I grip Solas’ arm and pull him over to me. He falls softly, and I wonder idly if he’s perhaps walking the Fade. That, or he’s _exhausted_, because in hindsight, this wasn’t a very careful way to move someone.

He breathes out quietly and evenly, and I struggle a little to move him up the couch. I breathe out sharply, shifting and cursing, and I don’t know _how_ I don’t wake him with all my noise, but I manage to work him behind me. He shifts quietly, adjusting to the new location in his sleep. His legs move against the backs of mine. He moves his hand sleepily over my waist. I grin like a fucking idiot when his fingers press against me softly and he breathes out a contented sigh.

I close my eyes again, shifting slowly and gently back into him so I don’t roll right off the couch like a jackass. I settle back, pressing against his chest, and then realize that, after all that crap, I’m awake. I sigh and reach down for Solas’ enormous book after a while, pulling it up through no small effort and a little bit of magic. I settle back slowly, careful not to disturb Solas. His grip tightens on my stomach, and he moves forward to curl against me, resting his head near mine. I smile broadly at that, opening the book with deliberate care.

I balance it on my left arm, but I can only manage to read every right-side page, due to the weight of the book, which makes for a highly confusing and very entertaining read. The book, as Solas surmised, is _quite _dry, and it is nowhere near as enthralling to hear in my own inner voice when compared with his delicious tone. I try to emulate his voice in my head, imagining how he’d sound out the words, but it just sounds like me imitating him, which threatens to make me laugh. I learn half the information on a certain Antivan king whose name I forget as soon as I finish reading it.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I fall asleep, the book weighing heavily on my arm. Some intelligent part of my subconscious pulls the book onto the couch so it doesn’t slam down on the stone floor, and then I pass out.

When I wake up the third and final time on Solas’ couch, my back is painfully sore and my neck terribly stiff. Aside from that, I’m quite pleased with myself. Solas’ arm is wound securely around my waist, and I feel his breaths soft against my neck, still even and deep.

I open my eyes, wishing I knew what time it was. The door at the end of the room opens, and I quickly shut my eyes again, pretending to be asleep. I do peek, though, curiously. Dorian walks in with his usual air of elegance and grace to the point where I half-think I dreamt seeing him and Bull last night. He glances up, spotting us on the couch, and I wish I knew what we look like, because he gives a warm smile before closing the door quietly and heading carefully up to the library.

Solas shifts behind me, stretching a little as his breath lightens. He moves his head up and away, and I pretend to still be asleep. His fingers move up to my waist tiredly before disappearing. I hear him stifle a quiet yawn away from me. After a moment, his hand appears on my stomach again, sliding up to my lower ribs as he settles again.

I smile at that, giving it a long moment before I speak. “Are you as sore as I am?” I whisper.

Solas chuckles softly, moving to kiss my neck gently. “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he murmurs silkily.

I close my eyes at the feeling of his lips. “I’m honestly afraid to get up at this point,” I admit. 

He laughs again quietly. I turn my head to see him, rolling my shoulder into his chest. He looks down at me sweetly, his expression so beautiful that it almost hurts. I smile softly, and his eyes move down to register the gesture before he slowly leans forward, eyes dancing lazily between mine. I wait patiently even as my heart begins to race, closing my eyes when he presses his lips to mine. I kiss him back as gently as I can, forcing myself to keep pace with him, though something in me itches to pull him closer.

Solas’ hand moves a little higher up my ribs, brushing lightly against my breast before he lifts it off, but even that brief, accidental contact has heat building low in my stomach. When it appears on me again, his fingers cup my cheek, holding me to him delicately. I breathe out a contented sigh, moving my lips against his a little less chastely. I roll my shoulder back even more to reach him better, my breath rushing out of me. I part my lips, inviting him to kiss me more fervently, and he accepts without hesitation. His tongue moves against mine, and I give a very soft sound in response. I reach up to grip his wrist, wishing I had moved us upstairs when I had the chance.

Solas, with far more willpower than I possess, slows the kiss down before pulling his lips off mine. He kisses me again tenderly, and I feel my cheeks burn when he gently moves his lips to my forehead. I don’t open my eyes immediately, reveling in the tingle his kiss left on my lips as I smile softly. Solas’ thumb brushes against my lower lip, and I smile a little wider.

When I finally look at him, I find his eyes filled with adoration, and it makes my cheeks burn even more.

“I guess, for both our sakes and the sake of everyone in Skyhold, I should move away from you now,” I tease, enjoying the way he grins in response. “Okay, I’m getting up. Starting now. Right now. Definitely. Okay, seriously.” Solas laughs quietly, kissing my forehead again affectionately. I smile and force myself to roll over and sit up. I groan softly at the kink in my neck and a pinched nerve in my back. Shit. Solas moves up beside me, and I hope he’s fairing better. 

I stand reluctantly, raising my arms over my head to stretch dramatically. I yawn a little louder than I mean to, the rest of it coming out in a quiet groan.

“Couches always _seem_ like such a good idea,” I sigh. "Then you wake up." 

Solas laughs again, catching one of my hands as it falls. As I glance back, Solas takes my face gently, pressing his lips to mine. I sigh softly, my cheeks darkening in response. I raise my hand to his jaw, angling my head to kiss him back more fervently. His arm winds around my waist, pulling me to him firmly, and I smile against his lips, pressing my fingers to his jaw more tightly. I part my lips, moving my tongue against his as I rise to my toes. His fingers tighten on my back, and his answering smile unravels me. I throw my arms around his neck, pressing closer to him. I move my fingers to his neck, my breath rushing from me wildly and a little carelessly. He smiles again at that, his fingers tightening on my back again. Solas tucks my hair behind my ear, a gesture that, for some reason, makes a column of heat rush down my spine. His tongue moves with mine, and I release a quiet sound, forgetting about everything else. I move my hand to his chest, feeling his heart thrum beneath my fingertips. I smile against him, bending backwards a little. He leans into me, kissing me fervently, lighting a fire under my skin. His fingers move to the small of my back, pulling my hips to his. I gasp quietly, arching to press against—

Suddenly, the door bursts open across the room, and I jerk back in surprise. “Excuse me, Solas, have you seen—” Krem looks up from the paper in his hand, his eyes widening. “O-oh, I-Inquisitor—I—” He turns, looking at the wall. “For-forgive me. I—didn’t know you would be—”

I clear my throat softly with a sheepish smile, folding my hands behind my back. “It’s alright, Krem. Did you need something?” I ask, pleased with how warm and friendly my voice comes out. My heart hammers in my ears, and I try to ease my breaths for the sake of the reddening man before me. 

“Ah—n-no—that is, it can wait.” He glances back at me, and I smile at him broadly, encouraging him to continue. “I—was looking for you, actually, but it can wait until—”

“No, it’s completely, absolutely fine, Krem, honestly,” I smile. “Wait for me in the hall; I’ll be right there.”

“Of course, Your Worship…Solas…I’m—very sorry.” Krem gives a half-bow and leaves quickly—_flees _might be a more appropriate term, come to think of it.

I turn back to Solas with an embarrassed grin. He raises his hand to my cheek, his expression unapologetic and adoring.

I rise to my toes, kissing him again briefly. “I’ll see you later?”

He nods slowly, his eyes trapping mine. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

I blush again, returning the sentiment with a grin. Solas’ thumb gently traces my lower lip, and then he kisses me once more before releasing me. He steps back, folding his hands behind his back as he admires me fondly. I smile at his usual posture and tuck my hair behind both ears. I look down at my shirt, tucking it into my leggings again and buttoning it up higher as I move across the study. I glance back to see him watching me sweetly, and I grin once more before I slip out into the hall.

Krem is shifting by the fire, one of his hands on the back of his neck. “Your Worship,” he says immediately, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry for—”

I shake my head in mock-seriousness. “A thousand curses!” I whisper-scream, throwing up one of my arms. “Exile! I banish you from Skyhold! Begone!”

Krem relaxes a little, laughing as he drops his hand.

“So what’d you need?” I smirk.

“It’s the chief actually. He wanted me to find you, hoped you’d meet him?”

“Bull? Of course. Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes,” Krem nods. “Just has something he wanted to discuss with you.”

“If it’s all the same, then, I’m going to have a _super _quick bath and change. Is that alright, or is it urgent?”

“No, that’s perfect, Your Worship.”

“Thank you, Krem,” I smile. “I’ll see you in the courtyard, then.”

“Your Worship,” he replies, bowing his head before he leaves.

It takes about an hour and a half, all said and done. The bath itself is fast. What takes so damn long is heating the water. And then, when I’m getting out of the tub, I slip and land—so very hard—on the stone floor. I rush getting dressed, choosing a white button-down and a pair of my usual leggings, hopping as I affix my Dalish boots quickly. I take the stairs down quickly, trying to fix my hair. My jostling steps keep messing the braid up, so by the time I reach the bottom step, I’m still working on it. I hit the door with my hip, walking through the main hall swiftly with my fingers in my hair.

“Hey, Snow,” Varric greets. “In a hurry?” he adds with a chuckle.

“Everything that could have possibly gone wrong this morning has,” I sigh, pulling my hair over my shoulder to continue to the braid as I pass him.

“In that case, good luck today,” he chuckles.

“Why thank you,” I muse. I'm too busy smirking at him sarcastically and _not _watching where I’m going. I slam into someone very hard, losing my place in the braid. “Oh, shit!” I say swiftly, staring in horror at the huge sheaf of now-scattered papers I made our commander drop. "Cullen! I am _so _sorry!"

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Varric laughs.

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry,” I gasp, dropping to my knees.

“No, it’s fine,” Cullen says quickly, kneeling before.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I gather the papers quickly, butting hands with him clumsily as I try to hurry. “I suck, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no! Really, it’s alright,” he chuckles. “It’s nothing important.”

“Lot of papers for nothing,” I muse, compiling them into a neat order.

“They weren’t organized.”

“Certainly not anymore,” I reply. “I’m so sorry.”

“Really, Inquisitor,” Cullen murmurs, glancing up at me. “It’s—completely fine.”

I sigh and hand the papers to him, rising swiftly. Too swiftly. I whack my elbow against the door, groaning and rubbing it quickly. “Shit! Gods, this is not my day,” I sigh. “It was the bath,” I add, snapping my fingers at Varric. “It cursed me. It’s all gone downhill since I fell getting out of the blasted tub.” 

Varric laughs loudly, shaking his head at me.

“Excuse me, Commander, very sorry,” I murmur, trying to edge past him.

“Oh, yes, sorry, Inquisitor,” he says, stepping away.

“Sorry for attacking you,” I add again, walking past him swiftly.

I pull my hair back over my shoulder, brushing it out as I start over with the braid for the hundredth time.

I take the stairs down quickly when I get outside, looking around for Iron Bull. I find him and Krem practicing behind the tavern and walk over to them briskly, finishing the last of the braid and tying it off. I throw it over my shoulder, a little breathless as I come to a stop.

Bull pushes Krem back with his shield. “Ah, come _on_, Krem! I’m working my ass off here. It’s not that hard.”

“You’ve still got plenty of ass left, Chief!” Krem calls back breathlessly, glancing over. He does a doubletake when he sees me and stands upright. “Ah, Your Worship,” he adds, as if in apology.

I grin at him, waving once.

“Glad you came by, boss,” Bull says, glancing back at me. “I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”

“What did it say?” I wonder.

“The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they _really _don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with us. With you, boss.” My eyes widen. “The Qunari and the Inquisition—joining forces.”

“I—a-are you serious?”

Bull chuckles, turning to me. “Yeah.”

“The Qunari want…an…they want an _official _alliance?”

“Yep.”

“With _us_?”

“You got it.”

“The _Qunari_?”

Bull chuckles again. “Surprised me, too. My people have never made a full-blown alliance with a foreign power before. This would be a big step.” He waves to Krem, urging him to come forward and fight again. Krem sighs but obliges. “They’ve found a massive red lyrium shopping operation out on the coast.”

Krem nods, raising his shield as Bull lunges for him. “They wanted us to hit it together,” the man calls breathlessly. “Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action—”

Bull rushes Krem, knocking him down. “Did you see _that_?” he demands, pulling Krem back up roughly. “Go get some water.”

“Chief,” Krem nods, wincing. “Your Worship.”

Bull watches Krem leave and then looks at me. “They’re worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, maybe some backup.”

I study his expression. “You…don’t seem entirely happy about this.” 

“No, I’m good.” He sighs. “It’s, uh…I’m used to them being _over there_…It’s been a while.”

“Would you rather we not accept the alliance? Do you think it’ll end badly?”

“No, no, of course not. It’s just…different. This would make a powerful alliance, and my people have never branched out like this. We’d be fools to turn it down, for all the Inquisition’ll get out of it. Cullen and Red agree. This’d shift the tide in our favor—exponentially.”

“Alright, then, let's do it.”

“Good. I’ll pass on word to Cullen and Red. We can set up the meeting.”

I nod.

“Chief,” Krem calls. “The boys wanna meet her.”

“What?” Bull replies.

“The Inquisitor. They said they want to meet her—you, Your Worship—if we’re going to be working together.”

Bull makes a face, rolling his eye fondly. “You up for it, boss?”

“Sure, of course,” I grin.

“Excellent.”

I follow him and Krem into the tavern. Several members of the Chargers sit around drinking despite—or perhaps _in _spite of—the early hour. They raise their mugs as Bull and Krem sit. I move next to Krem, throwing my braid over my shoulder again when it falls forward.

“How you doin’, Krem de la crème?” Bull wonders, grabbing a mug.

Krem sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. “I’m so glad he has someone new to hit with that joke.”

I laugh. “Oh, I don’t know—I can think of a few worse places to go with Cremisius.”

“So can the chief,” Krem snorts, “believe me. He loves his nicknames.”

“Hey,” Bull says, “when I was growing up, my name was just this series of numbers. We all give each other nicknames under the Qun.”

“They ever wear shirts under the Qun, Chief? Or they just run around binding their breasts like that?”

Bull narrows his eyes. “It’s a _harness_, Krem.”

“Yes, for your pillowy man-bosoms. Let me know if you need help binding. You could really chisel something out of that overstuffed look.”

I snort, coughing to hide the laugh. I look up innocently when Bull narrows his eyes at me playfully, too. “Sorry,” I say. “That—I wasn’t laughing. That was—I’ve got a cold coming on, you know. But I do have some canavaris if you need it for that, uh, burn.”

Krem looks at me in surprise before he laughs.

Bull shakes his head. “You’ll get along fine with this group.”

“So, who all do we have here?” I wonder. 

“This is just what’s left of the boys,” Bull says.

“Thanks, Chief,” Krem mumbles.

“You know what I mean. Rest’a them went out lookin’ for stronger drinks. We got Ricky and Skinner there,” he says, pointing to a dwarven man and an elven woman. “And over there is Stitches, Dalish, and Grim,” he adds, gesturing to a blonde man, a Dalish woman, and a darker-haired man. “Crazy bunch’a assholes, but they’re mine.”

I smirk. “Rocky,” I call. He looks up sharply, waving. “Were you born on the surface, or are you from Orzammar or Kal-Sharok?” I nod and smile at Krem when he hands me a mug. 

“Orzammar,” Rocky replies. “I got exiled. Stupid noble crap. Also, I accidently blew up a bit of the Shaperate.”

I choke of my first sip. “Ah, well, accidents…happen?”

He grins and raises his drink.

Bull snorts. “Rocky’s one of our best sappers. He can take down enemy fortifications faster than a golem.”

“I’m also working on my own version of Qunari blackpowder," Rocky says. "I’ve _almost _got it!”

“Yeah,” Bull mumbles, “you really don’t.”

I smirk. “Well, glad you’re on our side.”

“Yeah you are,” Rocky agrees.

I laugh again. “Dalish—why aren’t you with your clan?” I wonder.

“Our keeper thought I should see the world a little,” she answers with a smirk.

Bull glances at me over his mug. “As you know, Dalish don’t have templars, so they can’t have too many mages in a clan at once.”

“Now, ser, you _know _I’m not a _mage_,” Dalish corrects amusedly. “That’d make me an apostate.”

“You carry a staff, Dalish,” Bull replies, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s a _bow_.”

“A bow with a giant glowing crystal at the tip?” Krem wonders.

“Yes. It’s for aiming. Old elven trick. _You _wouldn’t understand.”

I grin and laugh as Bull raises his eyebrow at me, too. “Oh, no, she’s right. It’s a Dalish thing. Throws off our enemies.”

“_Exactly_,” Dalish nods.

“And the fire that pops up all over the field?” Krem challenges with a grin.

“Fire arrows.”

“What about the lightning?”

“I’ve got those arrows, too.”

Krem finally laughs. “Alright, you win.”

I chuckle. “And Stitches? I take it you’re the company healer?”

“Yes,” he nods, speaking quickly. “First time I ever picked up a sword was when the Blight hit Ferelden. Never put it back down.”

Bull nods. “He makes a potion that’ll put you right back on your feet after even the toughest fight. Tastes like shit, though.”

“That’s because it’s a _poultice_, ser. You’re not supposed to drink it.”

I laugh again, choking on my drink. Bull gives Stitches a smirk, and I look to the other elven woman. “How did you join, Skinner?”

“Killed some people,” she replies simply.

Bull snorts. “Skinner didn’t take too kindly to nobles testing their new swords on the elves in her alienage.”

“Bull took me in,” Skinner nods. “Now I get paid to kill shems.”

“This is actually really good behavior for her. She’s not marking her territory or _anything_.”

I smirk, glancing at the blonde man sitting on the floor. “Grim, is it?”

He grunts in response.

“Grim doesn’t talk much,” Bull says quickly. “I’m pretty sure he’s the lost king of some small country. Or chieftain. Something like that.”

Grim grunts again.

I smile. “You’ve got an excellent company, Bull.”

“Yeah, they’re a good group. We take in anyone who can pick up a sword.”

“And anyone who can put up with your bullshit, Chief,” Krem adds.

“Thank you for that, Krem.”

Rocky laughs loudly and then surprises me when he picks up a song. The rest join in quickly, their voices rumbling loudly over the rest of the empty tavern.

"_No man can beat the Chargers, _

_ ‘Cause we’ll hit ya here it hurts._

_ Unless you know a tavern _

_ With loose cards and looser skirts!_

_ For every bloody battlefield, _

_ We’ll gladly raise a cup!_

_ No matter what tomorrow holds,_

_ Our horns be pointin’ up!_"

Bull grins at the men as they finish, and I laugh with them. “Thanks for stoppin’ by, boss,” he says. “Glad you could meet some of _my_ team.”

“Me, too,” I grin.

“Here, need another?” Krem offers, holding out a mug.

“Still nursing this one,” I smirk, turning to him. “You mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s personal, maybe.”

Krem glances at me, nodding once. “Alright.”

“You’re from Tevinter?”

He nods again, appearing to relax a little. “Yeah…I wasn’t a slave, but even citizens have it rough if they’re not mages.”

“What was it like? Everyday life.”

“I was of the soporati—citizens who aren’t mages. Mages are in charge, and everyone knows it, but a wealthy merchant can have an easy life. At the low end, people just try to stay out of slavery. My father was a tailor. I joined the army after the Imperial slaves drove him under.”

“The _slaves _drove your family out of business?” I repeat.

“My father made shirts, aprons, that kind of thing. Nothing fancy. One of the magisters had a pet project to prevent the poor from dying of cold in the winter. Nice, right?” I nod, and Krem makes a face. “He had Imperial slaves making simple peasant clothes and selling them for almost nothing. That magister’s ‘nice idea’ put out slave-made clothes at prices my father couldn’t match.”

I frown, confused. “But—the magister was ultimately doing the right thing, right?”

“That’s the worst part of Tevinter—people don’t even realize they’re taking away your living. That magister wasn’t a terrible person. He probably saved slaves from dying.”

“What happened to your father?”

“He sold himself into slavery.” I blink twice in shock. “He’s one of the servus publicus—Imperium-owned slaves.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

I’m quiet for a moment, thinking of something to add before I decide to just move on. “So, uh, you were in the army?”

“Yes, I—was a soldier. I got into some…trouble. I ran, met Bull at the border, ended up here.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer quietly.

“It’s—fine. It’s not a life I’d wish on someone else, but it’ll do.”

“You seem happy with the Chargers.”

“I am. Bull’s a good leader, and everyone here—accepts me.” He cuts another uncertain glance at me.

“I’m glad,” I smile. 

He frowns. “Then you…”

I raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

“…know?”

I smile at him widely. “You’re a good man, Krem," I reply. "That’s what matters to me.”

Krem ducks his head, nodding. “Ah—that’s—thank you…Your Worship. That…hasn’t always been…received well.”

My smile fades. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“No, no, it’s alright, it’s just…” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “That’s what got me kicked from Tevinter, and now I can’t go back…Women are allowed to serve in armies, but only in certain ranks and disciplines. I was up for promotion, but the healer I’d bribed to sign off on my physical had to tend to a sick magister. When the replacement healer saw what was…or…_wasn’t_ in my pants, he made threats. It was slavery or death, so I knocked him out and ran.”

I run a tongue over my teeth. “I’m sorry, Krem,” I murmur.

“It’s alright. This is a better life than I had before. My parents always wanted me to marry up. They tried to find me a nice merchant’s son…” Krem shakes his head, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Every day…I’d put on a dress, look into my father’s shaving mirror, and just…hate myself.” The honesty in his voice makes my eyes flood, and I look down. “When I was younger…I don’t know…I had silly dreams about using magic to…you know—change, but no…In Tevinter, dreams like that get you killed.” I close my eyes. “Bull helped me make a good life. Nice armor and a well-placed sock, and I’m happy.”

“How did you meet Bull?”

“I was fleeing Tevinter. A tribune and his men caught up with me in a border town tavern. They meant to make an example of me. Bull happened to be there. He killed them. Gave up his eye doing it. He patched me up and asked if I was looking for work. I’ve been putting up with his jokes ever since,” Krem finishes with a fond smile.

I blink, looking at Bull as he laughs with Dalish, at the three long, scraggly scars that disappear under his eyepatch. “_That’s _how he lost the eye?”

Krem nods. “Yes. The guards had me on the tavern floor when Bull came inside and yelled for them to stop. One of them saw trouble coming and figured he’d finish me off. The guard had a flail. Bull put himself between me and the blow.” Krem shakes his head, his expression awed. “Big horned idiot…didn’t even know me…”

“Wow,” I breathe, glancing at Bull again. Admiration rushes through me, and I look away before he turns and sees me staring. 

“He gave me a…home,” Krem finishes.

I look at him, smiling softly. “I’m happy _you’re _happy here. You’re a good man, Krem. I’m honored to be fighting alongside you.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” he says, ducking his head in a bow.

“Krem—” Bull calls. “Hey, Krem, go tell Cullen and Red we’re gonna set up that meeting.”

“I can do it,” I offer.

“It’s alright,” Krem replies. “Stay ‘n drink with the boys, Your Worship.”

I smile at him and nod, settling back into my chair.

***

I follow Bull and Krem over to the edge of the coast. We arrived yesterday and set up a small camp near Jader last night.

I glance back at the others, seeing Varric, Cassandra, and Solas separate from the rest of the Chargers.

“Alright,” Bull sighs, wiping the rain from his forehead. “Our Qunari contact should be here to meet us.”

“He is,” someone new answers immediately.

We turn in unison to see an elven man mount the rest of the hill beside us.

“Good to see you again, Hissrad,” the elf adds with a smirk.

“Gatt!” Bull laughs. “Last I heard, you were still in Seheron!”

“They finally decided I’d calmed down enough to go back out into the world.”

Bull grins. “Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor,” Gatt nods.

“And you,” I smile.

“Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.”

“Hissrad?” I repeat. 

“Under the Qun, we use titles, not names,” Gatt explains.

Bull nods, glancing down at me. “My title was Hissrad, because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as Keeper of Illusions or—”

“Lair,” Gatt finishes. “It means liar.”

Bull frowns at him. “Well, you don’t have to say it like _that_.”

Gatt holds up his hands. “Just a fact. Anyway, Hissrad’s reports were complementary.”

I grin at Bull. “It’s so nice to hear friends say good things about me in their secret spy reports.”

“He does,” Gatt nods. “But they aren’t really secret, are they?”

“Look Gatt,” Bull starts.

“_Relax_. Unlike the Viddasala and the rest of our superiors, I know how it works out here. We’re in this together. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the influence of this Venatori cult. If this new form of lyrium helps them seize power in Tevinter, the war with Qunandar could get worse.”

Bull sighs. “With this stuff, the Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks. We could lose Seheron…and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.”

“The Ben-Hassrath agree,” Gatt nods. “That’s why we’re here. Our dreadnought is safely out of view and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship.”

“That work for you, Bull?” I check, looking up at him.

He glances down at me, his expression grim. “Mm…don’t know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It’s risky,” he adds, looking at Gatt.

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt challenges.

Bull frowns and looks away.

I glance up at him and then at Gatt. “I guess we can go try to hold up our end of the bargain. But we don’t take unnecessary risks,” I add firmly.

“My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore,” Gatt says. “There and there.” He points to two locations on opposite sides of the beach, one high on the cliffs to the left, one down closer to the shore nestled in the hills. “We’ll need to split up and hit both at once.”

“I’ll come with you, boss. Krem can lead the Chargers,” Bull says.

I glance up at him. “You can stick with your men,” I tell him.

“No, Krem can handle it. Let me fill him in. Come by when you’re ready to move.”

I nod.

“I’m coming with you, too, Inquisitor,” Gatt adds.

“Alright. Give me a moment to tell them the plan,” I reply, gesturing back to Varric, Cass, and Solas.

He nods, turning around to look over the beach. When I get to the others and explain what we’re doing, Varric seems more than a little dubious about the notion. We decide to go with it for now, which is about as much of an affirmative as I could get him and Cassandra to make.

Bull’s finishing up his instructions when we arrive at him. I see his inner circle amongst the men—all the ones I met at the tavern and several more that I didn't. They seem pleased to see me again, waving and nodding as Bull continues.

“Just…pay attention, alright?” he concludes. “The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad.”

“Yes, I know,” Krem hums. “Thanks, Mother.”

“Qunari don’t _have _mothers, remember?”

“We’ll be fine, Chief,” Krem says more seriously, perhaps noting what I see in Bull’s stance.

He’s worried, and that scares me. He's never worried. 

“Alright, Chargers,” he calls. “Horns up!”

“Horns up!” they holler back in unison, grinning.

“Ready when you are, boss,” Bull says to me.

“I’m ready,” I reply.

“Go on out there, then, Krem. Chargers, hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast! When this is over, drinks’re on me!”

“See you in a few, Chief. Your Worship,” Krem adds with a nod and a smile at me. I quickly return it. “Chargers, double time! Let’s move!”

“Stay safe!” I call to Krem as they go. I glance back at Bull as he watches them go grimly. “You can go with—”

“I’m good, boss," he replies gently. "But thanks. Let’s go.”

“Alright. Gatt?”

“It’s this way,” the elf replies, coming up past us. We follow him up the hill, and he glances back at Bull. “You gave your Chargers the easier target.”

“You think?” Bull replies disinterestedly as I look up at him.

“Lower and farther from the smugglers’ ship? It’s much less likely to be heavily defended.”

I smile softly at that, looking away.

“Suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting then,” Bull says with a shrug. “Just like old times.”

Gatt chuckles in response. “Alright, get ready. We’re gettin’ close.”

I grip my staff tightly, glancing back at the others.

“Camp up ahead,” Gatt whispers. “Everyone, get down. Let me take a gander.”

I crouch beside Bull, looking ahead.

“There’s a lot of them,” Gatt mutters. “Got a plan?”

“Yeah. We charge in,” Bull replies.

“Guess I see were your company gets its name.”

I move with Bull, rounding the side of the camp. When we get close enough for it to still count as a surprise, Bull runs forward, roaring. I cast protection spells over him and Cassandra, focusing on keeping my magic loose and free. Solas stops beside me as Gatt runs in, and Varric moves around the left side, keeping the camp decently surrounded.

Bull is an absolute menace. Seeing his fighting up close is at once incredible and terrifying. He throws so much force into each hit that the Venatori don’t—can’t—get back up again, if they’re even still alive. Cassandra chooses a side opposite of Bull, steering clear of his swings, though I’m sure he’s careful with his aim. He’s an impossibly intimidating foe, and I thank Mythal that I’m on his side.

A mage moves outside the camp, hurling fire at me and Solas. He reacts faster than I do, pulling a barrier up over us. The flames lick across the shimmering wall angrily before dissipating. The mage forms a rock at the tip of his staff, throwing it at us. Solas artfully redirects it, swinging his staff around to toss it back more powerfully. I follow up with a fireball, but the mage catches it and returns it swiftly. Solas redirects the projectile easily, and I freeze the mage in place. A second mage comes to his aid, breaking the ice swiftly and calling a lightning storm. Electricity slams into the ground beside me with a clap, and I jerk aside, pulling Solas with me in time for a second strike to batter the ground, catching the grass on fire. The flames roar impossibly high and fast, the Venatori mages breathing energy into the flames. Before they encircle us, I grab Solas’ arm and throw him aside as hard as I can, stumbling forward. The wall climbs over the path a half-second later, preventing me from escaping the same way. Solas hits the ground and rolls back to his feet elegantly, shouting my name.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I look around the camp swiftly. Bull is flanked by three men. Cassandra has two on either side of her as she edges closer and closer to the cliff. Gatt is overwhelmed with five men, spinning his daggers gracefully. Varric’s crossbow stops firing as he uses it to keep two men at bay. Solas takes on three mages, trying to clear my path. I try to freeze the flames, but the Venatori fueling them is more adept at fire spells than I am at ice, and his flames roar higher. The heat is incredible, staggeringly suffocating as the fire roars closer to me. I look at Solas, panicked, and he catches my eye with a look of fear I’ve never seen.

My left hand aches, and I don’t know why; there is no rift here. I tighten it into a fist, focusing my spells on the fire mage. I try to swing my staff and knock him down, but he waves a hand at the flames, blinding me. I jump back, glaring at him through the inferno. I’m on the verge of calling down a lightning storm myself when one of the mages hurls a fireball at me. Instinctively, I raise my left hand to catch it. I try to grip the projectile, but I find purchase on something else as Solas redirects the fireball with an angry growl. I feel the tear form in the Veil, and I scream. Pain envelopes and incapacitates me. The Fade rips open in a loud explosion so forceful that it knocks me and everyone else down, extinguishing the fire around me in an instant. My hand flares brilliantly, and I grip it, looking hurriedly to see everyone pulled into the vortex I’ve created. Bull, Gatt, Cass, and Varric manage to grab onto something, but the Venatori tumble and fall into the breach in the Fade.

I slip and roll towards the rift, reaching for something to hold, but pain ricochets through me blindingly, and I can’t form a tight enough grip with either hand.

Someone grabs my leg at the same time that someone else grabs my left hand. A sobbing scream is yanked from me at the pain, familiar fingers like glass against my skin. I look up to see Solas holding me, keeping me from the rift I opened. I scream again, my hand shaking violently in agony as blades tear at my skin from the inside, grinding against and through my bone unforgivingly. Magic hums and quivers in the air, and I look down through my tears to the Venatori on my leg. He climbs up as I try kick him off unsuccessfully. He grabs my belt and arm, struggling for purchase as I fight him.

The pain blinds me, and I can’t think clearly. Solas shouts for me, begging me to take his hand, but it hurts too much to try. Solas' pleas grow more urgent as I slip, but I can't make my left hand cooperate. Agonized sounds are pulled from my chest, and I can’t raise my right hand to him. The Venatori is still clinging to it, the man's fingers bruising my wrist and elbow. Something comes rushing at me, and then the Venatori mage is releasing me and flying into the vortex. Bull buries the blade of his war axe into the ground, anchoring himself, and then he wraps his arm around my waist just as I slip from Solas’ grasp. With my left hand aching but free, I lift it to the rift, my entire body shaking in pain. I scream again, gripping Bull’s arm with my right hand as he holds me to him tightly.

The rift roars deafeningly, and my screams get lost in the cacophony. It tries to resist me, flaring and fluttering to be free from my grasp, but I grit my teeth, tears streaming down my face as I grip the edges as tightly as I can. Groaning, I clench my hand and force the rift closed. It explodes again, and then we’re all hitting the ground hard. I land on top of Bull, my ears ringing. I cry and grip my wrist. A wail is pulled from me at the crushing ache, and I roll off Bull, falling to the ground on my knees.

“Boss!” Bull shouts, sitting up behind me. “Are you okay?”

I choke out another sob, my vision blurry as I violently shake. I hold my hand away from me, green energy spreading like fire across my fingers. 

“Vhenan,” Solas calls urgently, falling beside me.

“Is she okay?” Cassandra gasps, running over.

“Did you do that on _purpose_?” Gatt demands loudly. He marches across the field to me in anger. “What is _wrong _with you?!”

“Hey,” Bull and Varric both snap as Solas grips my hand.

I cry out his name, my right hand digging into the dirt in anguish. 

“Boss,” Bull says, gripping my shoulder with his large fingers.

Solas murmurs quickly, his eyes on mine anxiously.

“Why would you _do _that?” Gatt demands. Solas' expression turns murderous as he glares up at the man, and his words flow more swiftly. 

“Shut up!” Cassandra orders. “Let him concentrate!”

“This is why mages under the Qun are chained and—”

“Gatt, seriously, shut up,” Bull commands. “It’s not mage shit.”

“Looked like mage shit to me.”

Bull takes my hand from the dirt, replacing it with his own fingers. My nails dig into his skin, and I try to unclench them. “It’s not working—Solas, it’s not—” I sob, panicking again.

Solas closes his eyes, breathing the words out more quickly. My hand pulses and glows violently before jerking in Solas’ hands. I grunt and cry in pain, everything in me tight as I wait for release.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Gatt spits. “Who _knows_ who saw that! You could’ve killed us all!”

I hang my head, crying harder. I choke on a sob, falling to the side weakly. Bull catches me, and I realize I'm praying to lose consciousness to be free from the pain. 

“Leave her alone,” Cassandra warns.

“She nearly killed us all!”

“I don’t think she did it on _purpose_,” Varric shouts back. “You really think she did _this _to herself on _purpose_?”

“Solas,” I sob, gripping Bull's hand too hard again.

“Stay still, vhenan,” Solas begs, gripping my hand tighter as he moves closer.

“Why isn’t it working?” I cry, shaking harder.

He doesn’t answer, his words stolen by the spell.

“We don’t have time for this—we need to signal the dreadnought,” Gatt says.

“She’s wounded, Gatt,” Bull snaps. “Cool it a minute.”

“_Wounded_? She’s fine.”

“You are an idiot,” Cassandra says, making the words sound like a curse.

I feel close to passing out. I sway, and Bull catches my shoulder again, steadying me. My vision swims, and I blink slowly through my tears. 

“Solas, can we do anything?” Cassandra asks urgently.

If he answers, it isn’t verbally, and he doesn’t break the spell. He hesitates, and I look up at him, crying. He blinks, shifting closer to me. He pulls my hand to his chest like he did in the Western Approach, closing his eyes tightly again. I feel his heart hammering in his chest, his fingers shaking with a slight tremor. When he speaks again, his words become ancient. He whispers them so quickly that I can’t hope to understand, but the pain begins to ebb. I hear the melody again, the sound so achingly familiar that it weighs heavily in my chest, though I know I've never heard the words outside of Solas' spell. 

“Yes,” I gasp, shaking. "It's working."

Slowly—painfully slowly—the raw, ripping roil of magic levels out. The glass stops shifting, and the fire burns low. When his words are finished, I sag in relief, my hand growing limp in both of his as I cry again, in relief this time.

“Boss, you okay?” Bull asks urgently.

“Vhenan,” Solas breathes hoarsely.

“Suppose that’ll teach you,” Gatt mumbles.

“_Stop,_” I beg, bending over as frustration and fear and helplessness crash over me. “Just _stop_! I didn’t do it on purpose!” I add in a shriek.

“Snow,” Varric says, his voice tight.

“This is what you get with mages,” Gatt mutters.

“Speak like that to her again, elf,” Cassandra spits. 

"Do I have your permission to punch him, Snow?" Varric demands. 

“Just light the damn signal fire,” Bull orders angrily, his hand gentle on my arm.

I look up at my hand still clutched at Solas' chest to see its color dulled, the green a softer glow now. “Thank you,” I gasp weakly. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t say that, vhenan,” Solas pleads. 

Pain and exhaustion weigh heavily on me, but I force myself up to my knees again. Bull stands quickly, helping me up gently, and I nod at him gratefully, clenching my teeth to avoid more weakness. I wipe my face quickly with my right hand while Solas clings to my left, keeping it to his chest as his magic continues to keep it calm.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Cass and Varric. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to open the—”

“We know,” Varric says softly. “Everyone's fine. Are _you _alright, Snow?”

I nod, clenching my jaw again. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he murmurs. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Let’s—get back to the mission,” I say, waving to Gatt.

The others nod, glancing at me before they walk forward. I wait a second and then follow them. My knees give out after a few steps, and I curse softly. Solas catches my arm, and I gasp, blinking slowly.

“Vhenan?” he says worriedly. 

“Sorry—just—drains me,” I reply hoarsely. “Thank you, Solas. I’m sorry I always—panic. I don't mean t-to get like that.”

“Vhenan,” he whispers. “Don’t—you never need to apologize to me.”

I nod weakly. Solas keeps my left hand to him. As we arrive at the edge of the cliff, a flare shoots up from the edge of the fire before Gatt, exploding high in the air.

Bull looks down the beach. “Chargers already sent theirs up. See ‘em over there?”

I glance over the beach to the other cliff, making out several of them as they wave to us.

“I knew you gave them the easier job,” Gatt mumbles.

Bull smiles proudly at his men as loud bells ring over the ocean. “That’s the dreadnought,” he says, pointing. “Brings back memories.”

I look over the water at a long, powerful ship as it slices through the waves. Two trebuchets launch fireballs at the schooner in the bay, and it immediately begins to sink after two distinct explosions.

Bull grins. “Ha! Nice one.” He looks back over the beach, and his expression falls. “Crap…”

I glance over quickly to see a horde of Venatori heading over the sand up the hill where Krem and his men wait. They see the fresh arrivals, and they huddle up quickly, holding their shields at the ready, but there’s too many Venatori—more than overwhelmed us at our campsite.

“They’ve still got time to fall back if you signal them now,” I say quickly, my voice unsteady.

“Yeah,” Bull says, looking between his men and the dreadnought and the Venatori on the beach.

“Your men need to hold that position,” Gatt says carefully.

“They do that, they’re dead," Bull replies through his teeth. 

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead. You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari! You’d be declaring yourself _Tal-Vashoth_!” 

Bull growls at the title, glaring at Gatt.

“With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you, Hissrad. I told them you would _never _become _Tal-Vashoth_!”

“They’re _my _men,” Bull says slowly, staring at them across the beach.

“I know,” Gatt replies softly. “But you need to do what’s _right_, Hissrad—for this alliance, and for the Qun.”

“Bull,” I say firmly. “Call the retreat.”

“Don’t!” Gatt warns.

Bull takes one more look at Krem and his men and the dreadnought before he pulls the horn from his belt and blows it loudly. Krem and the others immediately respond. Krem waves his arm, shouting, and the others fall back quickly. He waits for the last man and then follows them up, keeping watch at the back.

Gatt paces, shaking his head. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are—for what? For this? For _them_?” he demands, shouting as he points to Krem and then me.

I glare at Gatt, tremoring against Solas. “His name,” I say slowly, “is Iron Bull.”

Gatt looks at Bull like he doesn’t know him. “I suppose it is.” He shakes his head and shoves past me. I gasp quietly in surprise, my knees giving out again. Solas catches me, holding me to him as he glares after Gatt murderously. I find my feet again, my vision unfocused as I force myself to stand when I’d rather kneel down.

Bull stares numbly at the dreadnought, and I lift a hand to his arm. The Venatori on the beach shout, hurling fireballs at the ship in the water.

“No way they’ll get out of range,” Bull murmurs. “Won’t be long now.”

“You don’t have to watch this, Bull,” I say softly.

“Yeah, I do.”

“When the dreadnought sinks—”

“Sinks?” Bull repeats quietly. “Qunari dreadnoughts don’t _sink_.”

As soon as he says it, an explosion roars across the ocean. A wave rushes up the beach in response as smoke rises into the air voluminously. 

Bull sighs. “Come on. Let’s get back to my boys…”

Solas walks with me slowly, and when I stumble, he moves his arm around my waist. I’m so tired and so unfocused that I feel faint and sick. I clench my jaw, tremors still wracking through me periodically.

We fall behind the others, and I close my eyes, sagging against Solas. 

“Are you alright, vhenan?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I breathe. My hand still hurts a little, but it’s leagues better. “I didn’t mean to open it,” I add quietly.

“I know, vhenan,” he says sadly.

Solas tightens his arm around me, and I watch my feet as we walk, my vision blurring uncomfortably.

I don’t realize we’ve reached Krem and the others until he hollers, faintly startling me.

“Chief! What happened to the dreadnought?!”

“I’ll tell you later, Krem. Glad you’re alright.”

“Are _you _all alright?” Krem asks, looking at Bull’s blank expression and me as Solas helps me walk.

“Lotta guys on our end,” Bull replies flatly. “Let’s just get back to Skyhold, alright, Krem? Go on ahead. Make sure the path’s clear for the boss.”

“Sure. Are you alright, Your Worship?”

I nod tiredly, unable to force a smile. Krem watches me worriedly and looks up at Bull with even more concern before he shouts at the men, rounding them up and marching forward. Solas tightens his hold on my arm, and I lean against him, letting us fall back behind the others as we make our way slowly down the path back to Skyhold.

***

I spot Bull across the courtyard learning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. His watches Cassandra train idly. I lean against the wall close beside him, folding my hands behind my back.

“Hey, boss,” he greets quietly.

“How are you?” I wonder, trying to make my tone casual and careless—and utterly failing.

“I’m good,” he replies. “Not done yet,” he adds, nudging his chin forward.

I look over to see Gatt making his way to us, flanked by two Inquisition agents.

“Inquisitor,” the elf says neutrally. “It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples, nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports for your _Tal-Vashoth _ally.”

I glare at him evenly and have the satisfaction of muttering, “Fuck you, too,” under my breath low enough to not be heard.

“You under orders to kill me, Gatt?” Bull wonders, seemingly indifferently.

“No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man. They’re rather not lose two.” He offers a half-bow before turning back, the agents escorting him to the gate once more.

Bull sighs. “So much for that.”

I look up at him, chewing the inside of my cheek before I speak. “I’m proud of you, Bull,” I murmur.

He looks down and gives a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Thanks, boss.”

Krem heads over, adjusting his armor.

“You’re late,” Bull says, pushing off the wall.

“Sorry, Chief,” Krem replies. “Still sore from fighting all those Vints. Good to see you, Inquisitor.”

“Very good to see you, Krem. How did the Chargers come out of the fight?” I ask.

“Just fine,” Krem nods. “Thanks to you and the chief, we had plenty of time to fall back. Chief’s even breaking open a cask of Chasind sack mead for the Chargers tonight.”

Bull shoves him, thrusting a shield into his hand. “Damn it, Krem! That’s the kind of thing you _don’t _have to mention to the Inquisitor.”

I laugh as Krem glances at me. “S-sorry, Chief.”

Bull grabs a shield from the ground and charges at Krem. Krem drops his weight, grips his shield tighter, and raises it up in time to collide with Bull’s. His feet dig into the ground, and then he grunts and pushes Bull back a step. Bull grins and nods proudly.

“Ah, forget it,” he sighs, lowering his shield. “You’re doing fine. Go on. Take a break today. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, Chief, but no thanks. Come on. I think I get what you were trying to show me the other day.”

Bull grins crookedly, the expression so proud that it warms my chest. I smile broadly at him when he glances at me, and I nod my head formally, folding my hands behind my back once again as I make my way to the main hall.


	41. Guilty Pleasures

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” the healer says quickly, taking the crate from my arms. “This should help greatly.”

I nod and smile. “Please don’t hesitate to come to me directly if you need anything like this again.”

“I hope it wasn't too much trouble. You're too kind, Your Worship.”

I wave my hand. “Be well, healer.”

“And you, Inquisitor.”

I head out into the sunlight. I’m on my way to the main hall when I see Cassandra sitting across the courtyard behind the tavern. I smirk when I realize she’s reading, and I note that I’ve never seen her do it in public before—not when there’s dummies to thrash and soldiers to yell at.

I fold my hands casually behind my back, grinning so widely that Cullen glances at me as he passes.

“Inquisitor?” he says, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Hello, Commander," I sing in response. "_Fine_ day, isn’t it?” Fine day for torturing Cassandra.

“It…is?”

I grin broadly at him as he watches me pass, practically skipping before I stop by Cassandra. She’s so engrossed in her book that she hasn’t even noticed my arrival. I grin and lean over to her, my braid slipping over my shoulder.

“Good book?” I muse.

Cassandra gives a surprised shout, jumping up from her chair so quickly that she tosses the book several feet away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she exclaims, as if instinctively.

That threatens to make me laugh. “Yes, because I suddenly went blind!”

“Oh…that?" she says, glancing at the offending book on the ground. She hesitates before shrugging, feigning indifference rather poorly. "Just—reports. From—Commander Cullen.”

I grin widely at her, struggling not to laugh. “You’re an _excellent _liar, Cassandra. We should have made _you _spymaster.”

She scowls at me. “It’s of no interest to _you_, I’m certain!”

“Quite the contrary, my dear Cassandra,” I muse. I feel a laugh bubble in my chest, and I bite my lip to keep from letting it free.

“It’s a book,” she sighs in defeat, scooping it up gingerly.

“I can _see _that,” I smirk.

She gazes sheepishly at the cover, giving an almost unconscious smile. “It’s…one of Varric’s tales. _Swords & Shields. _The latest chapter.”

I raise my eyebrows. The urge to laugh is getting harder to ignore. This is even better than I thought it would be. “The _latest _chapter of _Varric's _book? Meaning…you’ve read them _all_?”

She hesitates, her cheeks growing red. “Not…since this all began. We’ve been busy!”

“That’s just her favorite,” Dorian says as he passes.

“Nobody asked _you_, Tevinter!” Cassandra snaps.

Dorian laughs. “I couldn’t finish the last one you lent me. I actually feel _dumber_ for having tried.”

“Dorian,” I scoff, my tone reprimanding. He holds up his hands defensively as he continues walking.

Cassandra shakes her head again, looking down at the cover again. “It’s _literature_,” she says before hesitating. “_Smutty_…literature…” She looks up at me desperately. “Whatever you do, _don’t _tell Varric!”

“_Me_?” I repeat, feigning offence. “No! I would _never_!”

Cassandra sighs. “They’re terrible…and…_magnificent_,” she adds breathlessly. “And _this _one ends in a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next one, he must be!” She suddenly narrows her eyes at me, and her voice falls deeper. “Pretend you don’t know this about me,” she orders quietly, turning around.

I break into a huge grin as she settles down and opens the book again. I back up slowly until I'm far enough away to not be heard, and then turn and sprint across the courtyard and up the flights of stairs to the main hall.

“Varric!” I call breathlessly, slamming my hands down against the table where he’s eating.

“Snow?” he chuckles, steadying his mug when it threatens to topple over. “There a race going on I don’t know about, or did you just climb the stairs?”

“_Ha, ha_,” I say, gasping. “Cassandra—is waiting—for the next issue—of _Swords & Shields_.”

Varric blinks, making a show of unblocking his ears. “I’m sorry. I must have heard that wrong. I sounded like you just said that _Cassandra _read my _books_.”

“She’s a pretty big fan, in fact,” I grin.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are we talking about the _same _Cassandra? Tall, grumpy Seeker? Likes stabbing things?” He blinks again. “Wait, did you just say she’s reading the _romance _series?”

I nod, smiling even more broadly.

Varric scoffs. “She’ll be waiting for a while, then. I haven’t finished it and wasn’t planning to.”

“What! _No_! No, no, no, you _have _to finish it!”

“That book is easily the _worst _I’ve ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink!”

“Cassandra is _hooked _on it!”

He suddenly breaks out in a grin, looking down as he shakes his head. “And I honestly thought a hole in the _sky _was the weirdest thing that could happen. So, Snow. Let me get this straight, mm? You want _me_ to finish writing the latest issue of my _worst_ serial...for _Cassandra_.”

I giggle delightedly and nod.

He returns my grin, shaking his head. “That’s such a terrible idea—I _have_ to do it. On one condition: I get to be there when you give it to her.”

“Deal! Stop whatever else you’re doing and get to work. This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

***

Solas and I are reading in his study. My feet are thrown over the arm of the couch, and my head is resting against his leg. My book comes recommended from Dorian, and he was absolutely right—it’s fucking hilarious. Solas’ thumb moves across my arm slowly as he reads his own book—this one on the history of Ferelden and King Calenhad, specifically. Every time something in my book makes me laugh, I peripherally see Solas’ lips curl into an amused smile as he continues reading—which is pretty damn often.

At one point, I just drop the book to my stomach, laughing loudly. Solas glances down at me, his eyes adoring as he asks me what happened. I try to explain, cackling so hard I can’t breathe, unable to get the scene out straight. Solas listens intently, chuckling as he watches me. He appears to genuinely enjoy my utterly botched rendition of the characters' interaction, smiling at me affectionately.

I gasp upon finishing the terrible explanation, shaking my head as I wipe the tears from my eyes. I giggle again as I pick up my book.

I’ve just returned to reading when someone knocks on Solas’ open door.

I glance over lazily to see Varric grinning at me, a playful glimmer in his eyes. I lurch upright when he holds hand his hand up, wiggling a large sheaf of papers in my direction.

“Oh my gods. Please, please, _please _tell me that’s what I think it is,” I say, slamming my book closed.

Varric just raises an eyebrow at me, grinning so mischievously that I _know._

“Yes!” I exclaim. “Solas—I’ll be right back!” I lean over to kiss his cheek quickly, dropping the book on the couch. Solas smiles at me as I hop up and skip over to Varric excitedly. “I can’t wait. This is the greatest day _of _my life.”

Varric laughs, turning around. “I know exactly what you mean, Snow.”

The evening lamps are just being lit as we make our way down the steps. Cassandra is running drills with the soldiers relentlessly with Cullen, shouting at the ones who do it wrong and grimacing at the ones who do it right.

“Cassandra!” I call, waving her over. “Can we see you for a moment? It’s very urgent.”

She narrows her eyes at us and barks out a quick order. Cullen paces around the soldiers, correcting people’s forms with a quick word. I like that he still carves out the time to do this. I know he has a great deal of work to do, but it’s good for him to be out here, and he obviously enjoys it. 

“What have you done now?” Cassandra wonders, giving Varric a suspicious look.

“I get it, Seeker,” Varric sighs. “You’re still sore after our spat.”

“I am not a _child_, Varric. Do not suggest I am without _reason_.”

He nods, holding up the manuscript. “A peace offering: the next chapter of _Swords & Shields_. I hear you’re a fan.” He smirks as he holds it out to her.

She stares at it before glaring at me. “This is _your_ doing.”

“None other!” I grin widely.

Varric shrugs, pulling the chapter back. “Well…if you’re not interested, you’re not interested…Still needs editing anyhow.” He turns and walks a few slow steps as Cassandra watches in horror.

“Wait!” she shrieks, and I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.

Varric turns back with a grin. “You’re probably wondering what happens to the knight-captain after the last chapter.”

Cassandra gasps. “_Nothing _should happen to her! She was falsely accused!”

Varric holds the manuscript out, considering it. “Well, it turns out the guardsman who—”

“Don’t _tell _me!” she exclaims, reaching forward to snatch the papers from his hand.

Varric grins and clears his throat. “This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor. I don’t normally give sneak peeks, you know.”

Cassandra turns around, staring at the manuscript in her hands. I watch her, grinning from ear to ear. “I…” Cassandra glances back at me. “_Thank _you!” she smiles. 

“No,” I reply, “thank _you_.”

Cassandra grins at the book. “I wonder if I have time to read the first part!”

Varric pats my shoulder, chucking as he turns around. “Completely worth it,” he sighs.

I watch Cassandra hug the manuscript tightly. She glances at Cullen as he rounds the soldiers, and then she runs away, fleeing before he turns around again. I laugh loudly, clapping my hands once as she steals into her room near the barracks.

Cullen glances up when he hears my reaction. “Where’s Cassandra?” he calls, coming over to me.

I straighten, donning a mask of sincerity. “Oh, she received a very important message. Urgent,” I reply. “She could be gone for hours, maybe even days.”

Cullen gives me a suspicious look. “Mmhm.”

“It was a matter of life and death, Cullen. _Life _and _death_!”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”

“Excellent, because I've been informed to tell you to—”

“Boss!”

I glance back as Bull comes up to me, his expression serious. “Bull?”

“Boss, can you—take a walk with me?” he asks, glancing over my shoulder.

“Sure,” I reply, frowning slightly. “Commander,” I add dramatically, bending at the waist with an over-the-top bow.

Cullen snorts. “Inquisitor,” he replies, watching me a second before turning back to his men.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, craning my neck to look up at Bull.

“Mm?” he asks, glancing around. “Oh, yeah, ‘course, boss. Let’s head up to the battlements. More private up there.”

I frown at that. “Sure, Bull. Are you taking me up there to murder me?”

His laugh is a little late and a little strained. "Nah, not today. You're safe." 

I follow him up the stairs, jogging as he takes them easily.

“I’ve got—significantly shorter legs,” I remind him breathlessly as we reach the top.

“Mm? Oh, sorry, boss,” he replies distractedly.

“I’m kidding. I mean, I’m _not _kidding. I really _do _have—”

Bull suddenly dodges left, and I spot an Inquisition agent lunge at him. Bull punches him so hard that the man hits the ground. Another agent throws a dagger at Bull, the blade sinking deep into his shoulder.

“Bull!” I exclaim.

“I got it!” he hollers back. 

I don’t even have time to react before Bull yanks the dagger out and throws it at the second man. He grabs the first one and throws him off the side of the battlements while the second one stumbles forward, gripping his shoulder where the dagger went in.

“Ebost issala, _Tal-Vashoth_!” the man spits.

Bull grabs the man’s collar and throws him over the walls with a grunt. “Yeah, yeah, my soul’s dust. Yours is scattered all over the ground, though, so…” He grunts again, moving his hand to his bloody shoulder. I hurry to him, looking at the wound. “Sorry, boss. Thought I might need backup. Guess I’m not even work sending professionals for.”

I look up at him sharply. “You _knew _they were coming?”

“Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off.”

“That’s…very impressive, but you might have _said _something! To me or at least Leliana!”

“You go through years of Ben-Hassrath training to hide facial expressions when I wasn’t looking?” he wonders.

I roll my tongue across my teeth.

“See? Like that.”

I narrow my eyes.

“And that.”

I finally smirk. “Fine. Fair enough.”

“If I’d warned you or Red or the guards, the assassins would’ve been tipped off.”

I roll my eyes. “Fair enough, fair enough,” I sigh, looking at his wound again. “Sit down or kneel or something—you’re too tall.” He smirks and rests against the inner wall of the battlements. He settles low on the wall, spreading his legs out. I walk between them, looking at his wound more carefully. It went deep. I grimace and press my fingers to it, murmuring softly under my breath. “Are you alright?” I ask when I can.

“Fine," he nods. "Hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed.”

I snort, pulling my now-bloody fingers back, admiring the healed wound. Bull catches my hand lightly, pulling a handkerchief out to clean them. “What if they used poison?” I ask. 

“Oh, they _definitely _used poison,” he replies. I look up at him sharply. “Saar-qamek, liquid form.”

“Bull!”

“If I hadn’t been dosing myself with the antidote since we got back from Jader, I’d be going crazy and puking my guts up right now.”

I look at my hand, alarmed. “Did I just—”

“Hence the handkerchief,” he says softly, rubbing my fingers roughly and diligently. 

“Does the poison—hurt? I didn’t know to be looking out for poison in your—”

“It’s fine, boss. It just stings a little, but you took care of the hard part.”

“Is this—what are—do we _do _something? Or…?”

“Nah, this wasn’t serious.”

“They—sent _assassins_!”

Bull raises an eyebrow. “Sending two guys with blades against _me_? That’s not a hit. That’s a _formality_. Just making it clear that I’m Tal-Vashoth.” He growls the words, glaring at my fingers as he rubs them a little harder than necessary. “Tal-Va-_fucking_-shoth.”

“Why is that such a bad thing?” I murmur.

“Tal-Vashoth are…bandits, murderers, _bastards_. They turned their backs on the Qun and—slaughter Tamassran and children and—and now I’m _one _of them,” he finishes in disgust.

“You’re not Tal-Vashoth,” I say firmly. “You’re the _Iron _fucking _Bull_. You’re a mercenary captain of an excellent company working with the Inquisition. You’re a good man, you’re a hero, you’re a _badass_, and you’re my friend.”

He glances up at me and sighs. “I can live with that…Might need you to remind me of that every once in a while, though.”

“Happily,” I reply.

“Anyway…I’ll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened.”

“Can I help? I’ll tell her about the—”

“No, no, you’ve done more than enough…This should be fine now,” he says, releasing my reddened fingers. “Crap, sorry,” he adds, grimacing when he sees his handiwork.

“Eh, that first layer of skin was redundant anyway,” I muse. He chuckles quietly, the sound rumbling out of him. I smirk at him and turn around.

“Boss,” he calls when I reach the top of the steps. He looks over the mountains away from us, at the fortress behind him, and then at me. “Whatever I miss, whatever I regret…this is where I want to be.”

I smile at him softly, feeling my chest tighten happily.

He grins at me. “Whenever you need an ass kicked, the Iron Bull is with you.”


	42. The People Wait in Darkness

I step through the side door from the battlements into the tavern. Bathed in the warmth from a dozen fires, I sigh happily, shivering slightly from the evening's cold air. The tavern is filled to the brim with soldiers, Chargers, and everyone else in Thedas—or, it feels like that, anyway. Below, I hear Sera cackling loudly as she undoubtedly drinks several people under the table. I’ve honestly never seen anyone drink more. I don’t know how she does it. Bull's laugh joins hers, and I smirk, wondering which one of them is getting the better of the other. Varric shouts something unintelligible from here, his words muffled by Dagna, who shouts Sera's name before giggling madly. I glance down to see them all sitting together. Bull and Varric are playing a game of chess against one of the tables on the second floor. Dorian is leaning against Bull familiarly, his arm resting on Bull's shoulder as he watches the game in mock-seriousness. Sera and Dagna are sitting close together; Sera says something that makes Dagna laugh loudly, her cheeks burning red. Varric waves his hand at the chess set, muttering something that makes Bull snort and roar another laugh. 

I grin widely at that and then glance up to see Cole sitting in the rafters. I take a quick peek down at the drop from here to the bottom floor, wincing as I climb up to meet him.

“Please don’t let me fall,” I murmur to Cole as I sit beside him.

He smiles at me, looking happy. “I’m glad you came to talk to me.”

“Cole, you always make me what to hug you,” I sigh, looking down. “Wow, this is high.”

“We won't fall,” he replies confidently. His eyes catch on the table where the others are laughing again. “Salt spray smell of Seheron, lost in smoke from a burning ship. Guilt at not feeling guiltier.”

I glance at Bull and then at Cole. “Is he alright?”

“He is…troubled, but Krem makes him lighter. The others are here and real, and that makes it better.”

I look back down.

“You make him nervous. Palms sweating, can’t catch my breath—beautiful and funny, a light in the darkness. But she is happy, whole—eyes envying endurance, every echo emptying me. _He_ makes her smile, makes her happy—I wish it were _me_.”

I frown at Cole. “_I _make him nervous? Who? _Bull_?”

Cole almost looks like he might laugh. “_No_. The bull only gets nervous around the peacock.”

I frown again harder. “The _peacock_?”

“Yes.”

I suddenly grin, distracted. “Wait, do you mean Dorian? No, wait, don't answer that. Gah, I'm a busybody. It's their business...I love it, but it's _their business_.”

Cole chews his lip thoughtfully. “Voice ringing with fullness from both worlds, guiding me to the shining places. He calls himself Pride.”

“Pride?” I repeat. “Does—are you talking about Solas?”

“What?” Cole murmurs, looking over at me.

“Where you just talking about Solas?”

“I don’t remember. So many voices, memories, thoughts, fears. It is more than I heard before.”

“Is it too much?” I ask quietly.

“No, not too much. But a lot. Sifting, sorting, seeing. Hurts to heal, fears to face. I help, and it goes away, and then I don’t remember anymore. Like it should be.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Cole shifts, swinging his legs. “Questions can be shackles, but…you kept me in kindness. I will answer.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “If you don't want to answer, you don't have to. But...can I ask about what happened at the Spire?”

“I don’t remember,” he admits. “I let that go. It isn’t part of me anymore.”

“You don’t remember at all?”

“No.”

I consider that and then glance at him again. “Will going out and fighting bother you? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I know we often wind up fighting Venatori or templars.”

“Monsters are easy…Mindless, menacing. It’s…harder when it’s people. Venatori, bandits—people who can change.” He frowns. “But they choose. They hurt people. We need to stop them. My blades are yours to command.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I can forget later, so it washes clean.”

“Okay…Could you tell me more about the Fade, maybe? Now that you’re more strongly connected to it?”

“It is here but held…constrained by a construct. Veiled. Feelings, memories, minds, mortality: all shape it, a glass to hold water. We flow to the deep. Without you, we have nothing, not even us. That’s why we want so much.”

“What is it like for you? Are you…happy?”

“I’m _me_,” he smiles, looking at me briefly. “More me than I was. I can care and comfort but keep clean. No shackles. They feel, forgive, forget, and I am free. _Finally_. Thank you,” he breathes.

I close my eyes briefly, a piece of me relaxing. “I’m—very glad to hear that. I was worried.”

“No longer falling, fumbling, flailing. Now, flying.”

“That makes me very happy,” I murmur. I glance at him. “Can you feel stuff like _that_? Can you feel everything or just people’s pain?”

“I can feel it all, if I choose. I focus on healing the hurt.”

“But you could tell if someone is happy or sad, and you know what to do when they’re not happy.”

“Is that a question?” Cole wonders confusedly, kicking his feet again.

“Can you sense people from far away, or do you have to be close to them?”

“It is…foggy from far away. Closer is better.”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “Would you…think it wrong if I asked you to see how someone was feeling?”

“No? Why would I? You _care_. You want to help.”

“You don’t think it’d be…spying on them?”

“Caring isn’t spying.”

I make a face. Not…_always _true, but that's a mortal problem, I guess. “I’ve noticed…” I chew my lip, choosing my words carefully. “Solas is…very sad sometimes.”

“Yes,” Cole murmurs.

I look down. An obvious truth I didn’t want confirmed. “Do you know why?”

“Yes.” I look at him hopefully. “No,” he adds with a grimace. “Sometimes. It is very old. He hides it well.”

“Do you know if…if there’s anything _I _can do to help?”

“You already have. He is…brighter when you’re around. Free, happy, hopeful—but sometimes heavier, harrowed, hurting. You make it better _and _worse.”

“How?” I wonder softly.

“You are _real_.”

“What does that mean?”

“If _you’re _real, they could all be.”

“What does _that _mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. He frowns, thinking as he kicks at the rafters. “Voices varying—voided, violated, vacant. Weight, woven and weary, woken while weeping—an empty room, an empty chair—” Cole’s eyes widen, and his feet stop. When he speaks again, his words are rushed and shaky. “Walls—walls all around, waking, wailing, waning—why?” He raises his hands to his ears. “Pain—shrieking, screaming, scathing, suffocating—sullying, staining. Bleeding, blaming, blurring—_my fault_—sundered sleepers slinking through sunken slumbers—where did it all go—guilt gaping, gaining, gathering—gagging—” Cole gasps, his eyes even wider. “No! No, no, no, no—I don’t want to—I don’t want to see—no, no, no—_forget_.” Cole blinks several times, and then he looks over at me, smiling. “I’m glad you came to talk to me.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, my heart pounding. I don’t even have the grace to say anything. I kick off the rafters, hitting the floor harder than I mean to. I take the stairs two at a time, reaching the bottom distractedly. I hear someone call my name, but I don't respond. I don’t even know who called out for me, and I can’t focus on it. I move out of the tavern quickly, my forehead hurting from the frown I can’t erase.

I move outside, unaware if I pass anyone as I head up to the main hall. I turn into Solas’ study to see him standing near his desk, collecting several sheets of papers, a concentrated look on his face. He smiles when he glances up at me, and I look down, tears flooding my vision as I go to him.

“Vhenan?” he murmurs, suddenly serious as he drops his papers.

I walk to him briskly, colliding with him rather hard. He catches me, wrapping his arms around me, startled.

“Vhenan? Are you alright, what’s wrong?”

I hug him tightly, tucking my head into his chest. My throat closes, and I can’t speak yet.

“Has something happened? What is it?” he whispers urgently, his hands moving to my shoulder and the back of my head, securing me to him.

I shake my head to assure him, clinging to him tightly. A thousand things run through my mind—apologies or promises—but none of them come out. I simply hold onto him tightly, breathing unevenly as I try to calm down. His pain horrified a spirit of compassion, made a spirit of _compassion _make himself _forget_. The idea—the very implication of it is overwhelming. It weighs on me, pressing against me until my knees give out. I expect to hit the stone, but Solas holds me up.

“Vhenan, please—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say weakly, my voice hoarse. “Nothing—I just—”

I don’t know how to finish the thought, so I don’t.

Solas moves us to the couch. He sits me down and kneels before me. He pulls my face up, looking into and searching my eyes.

“It’s nothing,” I say unevenly. “I’m just sorry,” I add with a sigh.

“Sorry for what?” he murmurs softly, the usual crease forming between his eyebrows when he pulls them together.

I shake my head. “I’m just sorry,” I repeat. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” Solas swipes his thumb across my cheek, interrupting the stream of tears there. “I just…needed to see you.”

He lifts his hand to tuck locks of my hair behind my ear, his eyes still searching mine.

I sigh, annoyed with myself now. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“You didn’t,” he murmurs.

“Were you busy?”

“No.”

“Do I help?” I wonder, shifting topics. “Do I make it just…a little better? Even just for a little while?”

“What, vhenan?” he asks softly.

I choose a version of the truth, unwilling to admit what happened to Cole. “I see how sad you are. Even when you seem happy, it’s still there…Do I help?”

Solas moves his hand to my cheek. He kneels up, pressing his forehead to mine. “Yes,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “You do.”

I release a strangled breath. “I’m so sorry, Solas.”

“For what, vhenan?”

“For…whatever haunts you.”

Solas is quite for a moment. “Meeting you has…changed me. You’ve changed how I…see.”

I stare at his wolf’s necklace for a long second before closing my eyes, too. I find his hand, intertwining our fingers tightly. “I...don’t think I can lose you, Solas.”

“Nor I you,” he murmurs.

Solas arcs his thumb across my cheek again. I look up at him, and I just want to forget. I want to forget about the past and the future, about Corypheus and the Venatori, about the exploding dreadnought and the boy who starved to death in a tower, about two men who couldn’t be themselves and the destruction of my clan, about the hawk who won't come home and the pain in Solas’ eyes. I want to forget the sadness and the fear and the ache and the exhaustion.

“Can we go upstairs?” I ask quietly.

Solas nods softly against me, helping me gently to my feet. I grip his hand tightly, interlacing our fingers again. I tighten my fingers when we reach the tower to what I’ve come to consider our room.

When we reach the top, I pull Solas to a stop in the middle of the room, finding his eyes in the dark. I stare into them for a long moment before I kiss him. He returns it softly, so tenderly that it aches in me again—a man with so much pain who can still love so sweetly.

I realize my eyes have flooded again when I taste the salt against our lips. Solas pulls back, his eyes searching mine concernedly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Vhenan,” he replies just as softly.

I kiss him again, reaching for his hand once more. His fingers tighten against mine, and I move him backwards gently until he reaches the edge of the couch. I encourage him to sit, moving with him to straddle his lap when he does. One of his hands moves to my ankle, rising to my hip and then my back as he leans forward to kiss me softly.

I part my lips, an invitation that he accepts gently. I breathe more quickly, letting another mind lead here, letting another set of desires and emotions—ones that I can understand—take over. Solas’ fingers press into my back reverently, and I smile against his lips, forbidding my thoughts from drifting further than the way he feels and sounds and tastes.

I lift my hand to his cheek, letting my thumb traces across his skin as he has done to me so many countless times. I inch my knees closer to the back of the couch until there is no space between us. Solas’ arm winds around my waist, inadvertently pulling my shirt up enough so that when his fingers press against my back, it’s my bare skin they find. My breaths are pulled from me more rapidly as our lips move faster, melting and melding together like they were designed for this.

The longer we remain here, the faster my heart races and the wider the heat in my stomach expands until all I think about is its relief. I settle against Solas’ hips, groaning when I feel him press against me. His hand moves to my hip when I roll against him softly, and his fingers tighten. I pull back enough to whisper his name and switch angles, offering another quiet sound when his lips meet mine more fervently. I roll my hips gently, winding a hand between our chests to feel his heart thrum against my fingertips. My own heartbeat roars in my ears, rivaled only by the loud bursts of my breath.

Solas offers a quiet sound when I roll again, and it burns through me like fire. I shift against him, gasping and panting. My hands fall to his shirt, and I pull it up rapidly. Our lips break apart long enough to move the fabric away, and then his collide with mine again hungrily. My fingers trace along his skin and the contours of his chest, memorizing the shape of his shoulders and the curve of his arms as he embraces me, his fingers pressing into me. One of his hands raises to my cheek, his breaths pulled from him at such a rate that the fire in me burns hotter.

I reach down urgently for my shirt, unbuttoning it swiftly and throwing it aside carelessly. I gasp when his fingers rake down my bare spine, and I smile against his lips, rolling against him again. Solas moves his hand to my thigh. He moves up off the couch, pulling my leg up around his waist securely. He carries me the few paces to the bed, and then he moves over me, pressing down against me as I fall against the pillows. His wolf’s necklace falls to my stomach, its cool touch initially shocking. As if reading the thought, Solas lifts it off me and pull it over his head, breaking from my lips. He finds my eyes in the dark, searching them for a long moment, and then he tosses the necklace down the bed. I allow myself to drown in the wide expanse of his pupils as they draw me in and render me even more breathless.

His eyes fall to my lips, which feel swollen from his kiss, and then he devours me again. I give a quiet sound when his tongue moves against mine, and he rocks his hips into me, eliciting the breathy response again—this time, less quietly. He returns it deliciously, his hand running deferentially down my waist as I arch into him and shift my hips. I whisper his name, pressing my fingers against his arms as his hand lowers to my stomach. I nod against him when he pauses, uncertain if he’s looking for permission and all too willing to give it. His hand ghosts lower through my remaining clothes, moving against my skin. I jerk and whimper when he finds a sensitive spot, and he smiles against my lips, the gesture maddening and delicious. His fingers move lower, and he groans quietly when he feels how ridiculously I respond to him.

I roll my hips into his fingers, searching greedily for reprieve. He traces his finger against me, teasing before he presses into me. I gasp at the sensation, groaning as he moves slowly, and his lips smile against mine once more. His kiss grows even more searing, stealing my breath. His thumb enters a smooth circle against my favorite spot, eliciting a stream of breathy sounds from me as I cling to him. Sweat beads across my back despite the cool air around us, and I arch into him, my body tensing as it begs for release. My breaths turn into gasping whimpers as I grow lightheaded with a blinding urgency, and Solas moves his lips mercifully, kissing down my jaw to my neck. His tongue presses against my skin, and I know he can feel my heart race because he smiles again.

He adds a second finger to me as I adjust to him, and I whine, arching more and rolling my hips to meet his movements. He murmurs something in elven, the words either too ancient or too low for me to understand, but the rhythm of the language hums with my magic, and I release a stuttering plea, begging him—for what, I can’t quite say. His fingers move more quickly, his thumb dancing in a tight, controlled circle that lights my skin on fire. He breaths another phrase against my skin, the words so beautiful and enticing in his voice that I squeeze my eyes shut. My vision whites out, and I release an unholy sound, my nails gripping Solas’ back as the waves crash and wash over me with a startling intensity. I feel myself constrict around his fingers, and I hold my breath, a soft whine escaping me as I tense more, feeling it reach a higher peak. Solas gives a quiet, breathy groan against my neck, and it all comes crashing back down over me. I offer another sound that would humiliate me in any other context. In this one, it fuels the flames. Solas’ fingers curl into me again, blinding me with white as I cry out again, rolling into his hand greedily.

All at once, the tension in my body releases, and I fall back against the bed breathlessly, each sound I make punctuated with a gasp. I collapse under Solas, panting and whining, my hips jerking to prolong the feeling just a little longer. His lips curl into a wolfish grin against my skin, and I groan again, the feeling stagnating into gentle bursts that jerk me with their intensity. When I feel overwhelmed, I whisper Solas’ name and drag my hand up his arm gently, and he carefully removes his fingers from me.

He offers a heated, breathless version of my name before his lips meet mine with a searing kiss. I gasp as I return it, moving my tongue against his. Heat envelopes me at the sound of him so affected, and I tighten my fingers on his arms. My mind slowly becomes fixated on chasing the feeling again, but more importantly, on inspiring it in him. My hands fall to his waist, greedily and messily pulling at his clothes, my fingers shaking in their eagerness. He helps me kick them off, his fingers climbing and raking down my back. His slick fingers press into me, and I groan again, gripping his shoulder as I push him over. He smiles against my lips when I do it more roughly than I meant to. We land against the pillows, and I raise my hips, reaching down to find him. He offers a sound that makes me weak when I do, and I let my fingers wander languidly, drunk on each breath and sound he releases.

His hands find and squeeze my arms, his lips searing and fervent against mine. I wait until I can’t take it anymore and then I pull him to me. His lips hesitate briefly against mine when we meet, and then he raises his hand to my cheek, kissing me with such ardency that it makes me even more lightheaded. I lower my hips onto him slowly, breaking from his lips to release a strangled noise. He presses his forehead to mine, panting through his lips. When my hips meet his, he groans breathlessly, the sound so urgent and intoxicating that I almost tumble over the peak again. I smile, waiting a moment to adjust past the quiet twinge of pain. Solas’ fingers loosen on me when he realizes why I’ve hesitated, and warmth floods my chest when he finds my cheek and pulls my head up enough to find my eyes. His are blown wide with a desire that makes me urgent, but just as prominent is a look of utter adoration that makes me feel cherished. His lips find mine again softly, his kiss tender while we wait.

It only takes a few seconds for the pain to fade into a different kind of ache, this one urgent and unrelenting. I rock my hips against his, moving in a quick circle that renders us both breathless. He moves his lips from mine again, pressing our foreheads together once more. Our breaths melt together as I lean over him, and I release a quiet whine at the way he feels. He says something so quick in elven that I don’t catch it, but his breathy tone makes it sound like a curse. I grin, pulling back from him to sit up, intoxicated by him enough to feel powerful. Solas’ hands find my thighs, his fingers pressing into me. I maintain eye contact with him, feeling a wave of heat consume me when I do. I can’t keep it up for as long as I want, though, and soon my head is rolling back. My face pinches as I part my lips to breathe, another quaking sound pulled from me as I move. I reach back to Solas’ leg, using it for balance. I fall into a pattern, running a quick, grinding circle against his hips before I rise and fall. 

The sounds falling from Solas make me careless with my own responses. At one particularly disarming groan of his, my eyes flash open in surprise before squeezing shut again. I cry out, feeling my walls tighten like a vise around him as the waves unexpectedly overwhelm me a second time. Solas groans louder at that, lifting off the bed to catch me in his embrace. I fall against him, writhing and rolling and jerking sporadically. He presses his forehead to mine, offering a low, breathless grunt as I whine and constrict. His fingers dig into me, and he suddenly rolls us over, moving into me and working me through the feeling as it fades. His hips falter as I grow heavy, and I open my eyes to see him admiring me, a voiceless hesitation in his eyes. I beg him to continue, pulling him down to my lips greedily. He smiles against me, panting as he grips my thigh with one hand. His arm balances his weight, winding under my arched back. He rolls his hips forward again, finding the same pace as before. His fingers press into my back as he balances on his elbow, and he hitches my leg high on his waist with his other hand. I cry out, groaning when the feeling deepens and intensifies.

Solas’ lips are searing against mine, and I feel it all building in my stomach for a third time as he chases his own release. I raise my fingers to his back, raking them down his sweating skin. I move my other thigh over his hip, hooking my ankles. His sounds and movements continue to pull careless noises from me, and I find myself grateful for how removed my room is from the rest of the fortress. Each breath turns into a whine against as I edge closer. Solas moves his forehead to my shoulder, and that action itself nearly sends me over. His fingers dig into my back and thigh, his breaths hot and quick against my skin as I roll my hips to meet him, squeezing my walls against him. His hips stutter against mine, losing their rhythm.

He moves his hand off my thigh, sliding it between us. I release a frankly ridiculous sound when his fingertips press a circle against my swollen skin. His groans increase in frequency until I can’t think of anything else. I breathe his name like a prayer, tightening my fingers and nails on him, feeling the heat curl into a ball in my stomach—a ball I know will soon explode. Solas deliciously thrusts into me without abandon, his movements growing urgent as he nears his release, and I squeeze my eyes shut, caught in a breathless, weightless need that rolls and coils and lashes out wickedly from within.

Suddenly, everything aligns, and it overwhelms me—the feeling of him within me, the sensitivity of my walls and the spot within them, his fingers circling that tight bundle of nerves rhythmically even as his hips lose their pace, his breaths and groans at my neck, the tension in his back as he folds into me, his fingers so tight on my own back that I think and hope they leave bruises to remember this by. Before I expect it, it all comes crashing down a third time. I release another breathy, unholy cry of his name, constricting around him as my vision whites out. As soon as I do, he offers a honeyed, rich version of my name, thrusting into me before stilling. I grip his back, my nails likely hurting him as I cry out again. The feeling soars through me with impossibly more intensity than either time before _combined_, and my vision whites out again. I choke on my next sound, groaning and writhing against him as his fingers continue to dance against me. He moans my name again, the sound quiet but so heady that I feel drunk again as I flutter. I grind against him, shifting my hips as the waves crash and collide mercilessly. A wild flare of orange light dances across my eyelids, but neither of us is in the state of mind to recognize it for what it is. I cling to Solas as he moves against me gently again, working us both through the intensity. He moves his head to mine, his lips sloppy and wonderful against mine as we pant. I moan against his mouth lazily, feeling heavy and slow as the feeling ripples through me still.

When neither one of us can take it any longer, he gently moves away from me, his fingers moving to my hips as he rolls beside me. I turn with him, kissing him breathlessly until I have to part to breathe. I collapse over his chest, laughing weakly when I see the curtains roaring with a wild fire. I stare at it a moment dazedly before murmuring a quiet word and waving my hand at it. The flames go out in an instant, and I give another weak, breathless laugh.

Solas kisses my forehead, resting his lips against my sweaty skin as he breathes quickly. He murmurs a quiet phrase in elven, his fingers finding mine. He interlaces them as his other arm moves around my arm, his fingers lightly trailing up and down my skin. I close my eyes, grinning like an exhausted idiot as I slowly come back down to this plane. I tiredly move my chin up to Solas’ shoulder, finding his eyes in the dark. His expression is adoring, his lips curling into a soft smile at the unfocused expression I feel on my face. I slide up enough to find his lips. He kisses me back tenderly, so sweetly that it aches in me again. His hand disappears from my back to find the blanket, pulling it over us carelessly, enough to keep us covered without overheating. A cool breeze rustles the papers on my desk and sweeps across our skin, eliciting a round of goosebumps against my arms as I kiss him. When I can’t breathe anymore, I move my head back to his chest, closing my eyes as I listen to his heart hammer. I smile, my fingers intertwining with his again. I rest my arm across his stomach, letting our hands fall to the bed. His other fingers move from my back to my hair, brushing it absently.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he murmurs softly, the words so sincere that the sentiment presses against my skin.

I smile wider, returning the phrase with less poetry. The enchanting hum of our language adds to the weightless feeling that envelopes me, and, too soon, it pulls me under.


	43. Perseverance

“Bull,” I call for the third time, waving my arm across the courtyard to get his attention, “have you seen the commander?”

He hears me this time. He swings his sword around, slamming it powerfully against Krem's shield before standing upright. Krem takes the opportunity to breathe, leaning down to grab his canteen. Bull wipes his brow with his sword arm and nods, gesturing to the armory. “He and Cassandra are in there arguing.”

I frown. “Arguing?” I suppose that shouldn't be such a surprise. As two of the most stubborn people in Skyhold, it sometimes seems like arguing with each other is their profession. 

“Yep. Loudly,” he replies, waving Krem forward again. 

“Alright, thanks.” I wave at him gratefully and walk across the courtyard. I can hear them clearly before I even reach the door.

“You asked for my opinion,” Cassandra says firmly, “and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word!” Cullen exclaims tersely. “It’s relentless! I can’t—”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

I open the door quietly, stepping in as Cullen responds, glaring at Cassandra. She stands with her arms crossed, the very picture of defiant. “If I am unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then _nothing _good has come of this. Would you rather _save face_ that admit—” Cullen stops as soon as he sees me, his expression clearing and then darkening again.

“I apologize for interrupting,” I say quickly, folding my hands behind my back. “I was just—”

Cullen ducks his head. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, moving past me.

“Cullen, wait, I didn’t mean to—” I try to catch his arm, but he pulls away gently. 

“And people say _I’m _stubborn,” Cassandra scoffs. “This is ridiculous.”

Cullen closes the door behind himself rather hard, and I look back at the Seeker.

She grimaces at the closed door, shaking her head. Her eyes find the fire, and she huffs a sigh before turning to me. “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?” she asks.

“He did,” I nod, stepping forward to stand beside her. “And I respect his decision.”

“As do I,” she murmurs. “Not that he’s willing to listen. Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.” I blink, and my lips part. “I refused," she continues, noting my concern. "It’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

I lean against the table behind me, sagging a little. I cross my arms over my stomach and look down. “I didn’t realize he was…I didn't realize it had gotten that bad...Why didn’t he tell me?” I wonder.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” Cassandra replies. “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers.” She folds her hands and hesitates before continuing. “Additionally, I think he didn’t want to…risk your disappointment.”

“My _disappointment_?” I repeat incredulously. “How could I be disappointed? What he’s doing is honorable.” I sigh. “Is there anything we can do or say to change his mind?”

“If anyone could, it’s you,” she answers.

"Me?"

“He respects you and your opinions, that much is clear." Cassandra sighs heavily. "Mages have made their suffering known, but templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their _lyrium leash_." She says the words like a curse, her expression surprisingly disdainful at the concept, but her voice changes as she continues, a note of admiration entering her tone. "Cullen has a chance to _break_ that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it’s possible. He _can _do this, Inquisitor. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall." She looks at me imploringly. "Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

***

I hesitate outside Cullen’s office, the cool wind pulling at my hair. I twist my fingers, anxious that I’ll say the wrong thing, as I so often seem to. I sigh at myself. I should have asked Solas for his advice. I desperately wanted to, but I didn’t want to break Cullen’s confidence. I put my hand on the door handle, hesitating again.

“Stop being a coward,” I mumble to myself.

I repeat the phrase, nod, take a breath, and open the door.

As soon as I do, Cullen shouts wordlessly in anger. Something flies towards me, and I jump aside, startled, as it crashes into the door beside me and falls in a broken heap to the ground. A lyrium vial shatters, and shining cobalt liquid bleeds into the cracks in the stone floor. The tools for its consumption scatter, some landing near my feet when the box bursts open.

“Maker’s Breath! Suledin!” Cullen exclaims, and I whip around to face him, afraid he's angry with me. He stands from his desk, giving me a wide-eyed, almost frightened look. “I-I'm so sorry! I didn’t hear you enter! I…” He looks down, shame shadowing his expression. “Forgive me.”

“Cullen,” I say softly. He closes his eyes, rubbing his temples with one hand. “_Talk _to me, please. Let me help you.”

“You don’t have to—” A pained groan interrupts him. His knees give out, and he grabs the desk to steady himself. 

I lunge forward instinctively, reaching out to help him, but he holds a hand up to stop me. “Cullen, let me—”

He gasps, bending at the waist as he holds his stomach. He grimaces, pants for a second, and then releases a slow breath. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he says quietly.

“Come here,” I reply softly, grabbing his arm. “Stop fighting me; I’m stronger than I look,” I add when he tries to push me away.

“No,” he gasps, waving me away again.

I sigh heavily, dropping my hands. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes…I don’t know.” He sighs, wincing. He shakes his head, pressing his fists against the desk and leaning over it, almost angry now. When he speaks again, his words rush out of him, confusing me at first. “You never pressed me about it when I mentioned Ferelden's Circle—but they always do—It was taken over by abominations,” he says, his voice raising in both volume and emotion. “The templars—_my friends_—were _slaughtered_.” I close my eyes. “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I—how can you be the same person after _that_?” he demands, and I close my eyes tighter before looking up at him. His voice turns bitter and ironic. “Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my knight-commander, and for what, mm? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.” He looks at me angrily. “Can’t you see why I want _nothing _to do with that life?”

“Of course I can,” I murmur. “I—”

“Don’t!” he exclaims suddenly, startling me again. I blink, raising my chin a little. “You should be questioning what I’ve done!” He pushes off the desk and paces in front of me. I cross my arms over my chest tightly. “I thought this would be better! That I would regain some control over my life! But these…_thoughts _won’t leave me—” He holds his hands to his head as he walks. “How many lives depend on our success? I _swore _myself to this cause! I will _not _give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!” he shouts, hitting the bookshelf abruptly. I jerk in surprise, swallowing as he leans against the bookshelf. “I should be taking it,” he says again, his voice a whisper.

“You’ve given so much, Cullen,” I murmur softly, moving to stand next to him. I hesitate before lifting my hand to his arm. When he doesn't resist me, I tighten my grasp. “I’m not asking you for more. Look at me.” He closes his eyes and hangs his head. “Cullen, look at me.” He does, slowly. I search his eyes for a long moment, seeing his fear, his pain, his anger. He searches mine, too, a note of desperation entering his expression, as if asking me for help, for guidance. It makes my chest tighten to see him so uncertain, so hurt. I step closer to him, letting sincerity burn through my expression and my voice. “The Inquisition _can _be your chance to start over—if you want it to be. You _can _do this. You’re strong, Cullen. I believe in you, and you have all of us behind you.” 

He stares at me for a long moment in silence, and I hold his gaze, hoping to communicate my faith in him, in his choice. His eyes fall slightly, and then he closes them.

“You started on this path because it was what you wanted for your life. Is it still what you want?”

He exhales slowly. “Yes, but…these…memories have always haunted me,” he whispers, looking at the ground. “If they become worse, if I cannot endure this…”

“You can,” I say firmly, giving him an almost stern look. “Don’t give up on yourself, Cullen. I certainly won’t.”

He closes his eyes and stands up from the bookshelf. My hand slips from his arm, and I press it to my stomach. He breathes out, opening his eyes with a new determination. “Alright,” he whispers, nodding once. “Thank you, Suledin.”

“If you ever need anything—help or just someone to talk to, Cullen, I’m serious. _Please_ come find me. I want to help you in any way I can. You’re on the right path, and you have me and the rest of the Inquisition behind you. You _can _do this.”

“Thank you,” he says again, brushing past me gently. He moves to his desk, eyeing the last vials of lyrium.

"Want to go throw them off the battlements?" 

He offers a thin smile. "Perhaps another time."

I nod, looking away. “My mind’s drawing a blank, but let’s just both agree I said something funny, and I inspired you.”

He smirks softly, his eyes haunted. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he murmurs.

I chew the inside of my cheek uncertainly, folding my hands behind my back. “I’ll see you later, Cullen. Please let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“I will,” he whispers, still staring at the lyrium.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes," he admits. "But I think I need some time by myself to...” He trails off, his eyes a little distant. 

“Alright,” I murmur. “I’ll find you later.”

He nods softly, sitting down at his desk. I turn around and glance back at him, chewing the inside of my cheek again as I slip through the door.

***

Solas’ lips crush against mine, his kiss searing, and I gasp quietly, rolling my hips urgently against his. The friction lights my skin on fire, and he moves closer to me, meeting my movements flawlessly. He smiles softly at the whiny sound I make, and I shiver at the cold stone biting into my skin even through all these damn clothes. Solas’ hand drifts down my thigh and up to my knee, hitching it higher on his waist. I moan softly at that, frowning when I remember to keep my volume down.

When I came in here earlier, neither of us intended for this to happen, but one thing led to the next and here we are. Dorian and the others are at dinner, so I feel certain that, though we’re pressed against a wall in Solas’ study, we have these few heated moments to steal. I do regret that we're not upstairs, but that apparently isn't enough to stop me from getting carried away. 

I arch into him, standing on my toes as I cling to his jaw with both hands. I make another soft, breathy sound, swallowing against the kiss. Solas slips his other hand around to the small of my back. I grin at that, my breaths falling from me wildly. My breath hitches as I roll against him again, earning a wolfish smile from him as he presses his chest to mine, hitching my leg an inch higher. I tighten my fingers, bending towards him more. His lips race against mine, devouring me, and I feel lightheaded at the delicious sound of his breaths. 

Needless to say, it nearly gives me a heart attack when the door unceremoniously bursts open beside us at the same terrible time that a breathy moan is dragged from me. I pull from Solas’ mouth, wide-eyed, to see Cullen standing there. His eyes flit down my body wound around Solas’ in pure horrified shock before he jerks his head away. He seems somehow even _more _embarrassed than I am.

“I—Maker’s _breath_! Inquisitor—” He turns around immediately, marching swiftly from the room as quickly as he arrived. “I’m so sorry—I—”

“Shit, no, wait, Cullen!” I call after him. “Wait just a second! That’s...that's an order!” I kiss Solas again heatedly, my fingers lingering on his jaw. “I’ll be right back.”

Solas smiles against my lips, bending me to him gently as he nods. His kiss makes me forget briefly that I meant to leave until he releases me. 

“Right back,” I promise again, breaking from him regrettably. “Cullen, wait!” I call, jogging after him. “Sorry!”

“Inquisitor, forgive me,” Cullen says, his face red. “That was—utterly—I should have knocked—I didn't realize you would be—that is, I thought you—”

“Cullen, wait,” I gasp, jogging to keep up. “Mythal, you walk fast!”

He stops without meeting my eye. We stand on the bridge halfway between the atrium and his office.

“What did you need?” I ask breathlessly. 

"N-nothing,” he says. “Nothing—Maker, it can wait—I—I’m so—”

I wave my hand. “Please, I’m sorry. I told you to come find me. Let’s, uh, forget we all saw that, yes?” I grin, my heart still hammering.

Cullen looks at me, his eyes falling to my chest, and then he looks away sharply, studying the mountains. I look down swiftly to see that my shirt managed to fall open quite low while I was pressed against Solas. I button it back up swiftly, my cheeks flaming.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I laugh awkwardly. “Did somebody say unprofessional? Ah, yes, it was me. Just now.”

“Inquisitor, really, this can wait—”

“Tell me what it was,” I say quickly. “Please. That’s...another Inquisitor order.”

Cullen’s lips twitch, and he sighs, leaning against the wall. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing at the atrium door before he looks at me again sheepishly, seeming unable to keep my eye for more than a few seconds. “I just…” He sighs. “I wanted t-to...thank you.”

I cock my head, folding my hands behind my back.

“When you came to see me…if there’s anything…” He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “This sounded much better in my head. I should’ve prepared before I…” His cheeks redden, and he shakes his head.

“Then you’re feeling better?” I say, leaning against the wall behind me to mirror his posture. 

“I…yes,” he nods.

“Is it always that bad?” I murmur seriously.

He shrugs vaguely. “The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there…I should not have pushed myself so far.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” I say softly.

“I am.”

I smirk. “Skyhold won’t _completely _fall apart if you take an hour for yourself every now and then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughs quietly. “But thank you for…talking with me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” I murmur.

“No, I do…I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was…not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me.” He looks down and then up at me. “Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.”

I make a face at him. “You’re too hard on yourself,” I reply. “You’re a good man. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He shakes his head. “It’s…kind of you to say, but I know who I am.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Who you _were_, maybe, but look at you now, hanging out with me, a mage. Eh? _Eh_?”

He smirks, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I meant to thank you, not trouble you further. You’ve enough to worry about. How are you holding up?”

“Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.”

Cullen snorts. “I don't think I've ever seen you drink.”

“What can I say? I'm stealthy.”

He shakes his head at my rather dark joke. 

“Honestly?” I muse, glancing at him. “Real talk? I’m terrified. So many people depend on us…on me.”

“We’ve made _great _strides,” he murmurs seriously. “Do not doubt yourself, or the Inquisition, just yet. If there’s _anything _I can do, you have only to ask.”

“Thank you, Cullen. It helps having friends here. Solas, Varric, Dorian, Cass…” I kick Cullen’s boot. “You,” I add with a chuckle. “You all keep me grounded.”

Cullen snorts. “You certainly keep interesting company.” He laughs. “I suppose I do as well.”

“Damn straight. You’re alright, Cullen. I like you.”

He snorts. “Thanks. You’re…alright, too.”

“Nice hesitation. I’m not offended at all.”

He laughs. “No, I meant—you’re a good leader. I’m—honored to serve under you.”

I smile at him. “Solas and I were—” I clear my throat. “—_honestly _on our way to dinner. Would you care to join us?”

“Ah, no,” Cullen laughs, his cheeks reddening again. “No, you two—go on ahead.”

“You _have _to eat. I _insist_.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you there, then. I have a few matters to attend to first.”

I narrow my eyes. “Cullen, I’m _technically _your boss, right?”

“Technically,” he muses, smirking. 

“Then by the power vested in me as the Inquisitor of this…Inquisition, I hereby order you to take a gods-damned break. Get some dinner, watch the stars, have a drink. You’re not allowed to do anymore work for the rest of the day—and by the rest of the day, I mean until tomorrow morning—and by tomorrow morning, I mean _after _the sun has risen.”

Cullen laughs, standing up. “Alright, alright. You win. I’ll…eat while I work.”

I sigh heavily, groaning. “I’ll take what I can get,” I add with a grin.

He shakes his head. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Commander,” I say with a lavish bow. “_I _shall see you later.”

He nods solemnly, admiring Skyhold.

“And…I’m proud of you,” I say, turning back to glance at him. “I’m very proud of you, Cullen, for making this decision. I know it isn't easy, but your strength has inspired me.”

“Thank you, Suledin,” he murmurs softly, looking down.

I smile at him and turn around to find Solas, starving now. I glance back at Cullen one last time before slipping through the door to the atrium.


	44. The Left Hand of the Divine

I take the stairs up two at a time. Dorian is leaning over the edge of his chair in the library, searching for something, apparently. I’m on my way to the rookery to see Leliana, but honestly, the sight is too intriguing to just pass by without comment.

“Lose something?” I hum, crossing my arms.

“_Found _something,” Dorian corrects. “Large fella, too.”

I groan. “What is it? _Don’t _tell me we have rats now.”

“Oh, no,” Dorian answers, standing upright. “Not a rat.” He turns, holding his hand out to me with a fascinated grin as he admires what he’s holding. “Look!” he says delightedly.

I recoil in horror. A spider nearly the size of Dorian’s entire hand clings to his palm. Eight massive eyes look at me, and I step back again, something inside me begging to jump off the fucking _mountain _if _that _is the kind of thing I’m likely to find here.

“_Dorian_!” I shriek. “_Why are you holding it_?!”

“What, it’s harmless! It hasn’t any fangs, see?” He holds his hand out for me to see, but the spider thinks it an invitation. It leaps off Dorian's fingers, lunging at me. 

I scream, recoiling violently—perhaps a touch dramatic, in hindsight. The railing hits my waist, and I realize too late that I’m tipping over it.

“Kaffas!” Dorian shouts, reaching for me.

The spider lands on my chest, and I scream again, everything in me shuddering in recoil. I thoughtlessly jerk back to escape. Dorian’s hand slips past mine, and then I’m falling.

I hit Solas’ desk below—_hard_.

“_Vhenan_!” he exclaims, rushing from across the room and dropping his papers.

“Get it off!” I scream, rolling clean off the desk. I hit the stone floor with another painful crash.

Perhaps terrified by my reaction, the spider leaps to the ground and scurries off across the floor and out of sight. I recoil again, and then glare at the ceiling high above me, sprawled across the ground. Leliana looks over the topmost railing, alarmed.

“Sul!” Dorian cries from the second floor. “Maker, are you alright?!”

“Vhenan—” Solas kneels beside me, and I heave a weighted sigh.

“Ow,” I mutter indignantly, glaring at Dorian now.

“Dorian!” Solas seethes, looking up at him.

Dorian gapes at him. “How was _I _to know she’d—hang on!” He disappears, and then I hear him running downstairs.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Leliana calls, her singsong voice amused now that she knows I'm not dead.

I wave and sigh again, refusing to stand back up on principle. And also pain.

“What happened?” Varric shouts, rushing into the room as Dorian hits the bottoms floor.

“Great, why don’t we just invite _everyone_?” I demand.

“Sul, I’m so, so sorry!” Dorian exclaims, reaching for my hand. I pull them away, crossing my arms again in defiance.

“Why are you on the floor?” Varric asks. “What happened to Chuckles’ desk? Did—did you _fall_?”

“Dorian,” Solas says again irritably.

“How was I to know she’d react like that?!”

“What _was _it?” Varric asks. “What happened? Snow, you alright?”

“It was a—spider,” Dorian admits sheepishly.

“_Spider _is an understatement," I fume. 

“Well…she _is _afraid of them,” Varric says. “There were all over the Fade when we—”

“Well don’t _talk _about it!” I shout, throwing my hands up in vexation.

“That’s why I thought it was okay!” Dorian says. “I thought you’d—overcome the…fear…”

“Nope!” I snap. “No, apparently not, thanks for checking there, best friend.”

“Aw, best friend...well that’s sweet,” Dorian smiles.

“Shut up.”

“Are you alright, vhenan?” Solas murmurs.

I sigh again heavily. “I think I’m just gonna lie here, if it’s all the same to everyone. Just gonna lie here and think about my life choices.”

Solas’ lips suddenly fight a smile.

“Sul, please forgive me,” Dorian says, leaning over me. “I didn’t know—you’re always so fearless when we encounter them—I didn’t know.”

I falter. “Well—thank you—that’s…nice,” I murmur.

“I never would have shown you if I—I didn’t mean to—that’s a steep fall. Did you break anything?”

“Just my pride,” I sigh. "And probably Solas' desk."

Solas smiles at me, taking my hand and lifting me up gently. I huff irritably and perch on the end of his desk. His papers and books were thrown to the floor in my mad escape, and I see at least two quills I managed to break. I grimace and cross my arms over my chest again.

“Dorian,” I say slowly, “in the _future_—”

“Spiders are not our friend,” he nods. “Got it.”

“Sparkles is afraid of light bugs if you wanna get him back,” Varric shrugs.

“What!” Dorian exclaims. “No, I’m not! That’s absurd.”

“Really? Then yesterday in the courtyard, you were running from _Sera_?”

“She—has a...very mean—vocabulary,” Dorian fumbles.

“I’m not getting you back, Dorian, relax,” I sigh.

“Alright, I hear you,” Varric says, offering such an obvious wink that I chuckle. “No payback. Got it.”

“Varric,” Dorian warns. “If you—I _swear_—”

“You _knocked _our Inquisitor off the second floor!” Varric points out.

“By _accident_! I obviously didn’t _want _her to almost break her neck!”

“It’s alright, Dorian,” I laugh, my half-joking tension replaced by a flood of embarrassment. “It _was _rather dramatic, even for me.”

Dorian glances at me, and when he sees me laugh again, he relaxes.

“I mean, that’s a new record for me,” I chuckle. “I’ve never recoiled off a balcony before.”

Dorian and Varric laugh, and even Solas chuckles, though he tries to fight in.

I shake my head at myself. “Sorry about your desk, Solas,” I murmur, glancing again at the scattered books and papers.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he replies softly, his hand pressing warmly against my back.

I shake my head at myself, rubbing my temple.

“Inquisitor,” an agent calls, walking in. She frowns at the disarray in the room but chooses not to comment or question. “Message for you.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, accepting two scrolls. One bears the sigil of the Grey Wardens, and I frown. The second one has the same sigil, but it is folded with more care and has Leliana’s name scrawled across the seal in elegant cursive. I unfurl the first. I glance at the sender’s signature, and my eyes widen.

Holy _shit_. The Hero of Ferelden!

The Hero of Ferelden…

The Hero of Ferelden has written to me.

The fucking _Hero_ of _Ferelden _has _written _to _me_! 

Whoa…

_Inquisitor Lavellan,_

_ Leliana contacted me on behalf of the Inquisition to inquire about Corypheus and the fight you find yourself facing. I wish I could be more helpful in this matter, but due to my own limited on-the-job training during the Blight, I know less of ancient darkspawn than do the vast majority of Grey Wardens. Currently, I find myself engaged in a search of my own, which has taken me farther from home than I had originally intended. I have heard of your experiences at Adamant and, though it did not come without its price, I commend you for the difficult decision you made. As you know, then, all Grey Wardens who do not fall in battle eventually fall prey to the Calling. Forgive me if I assume you know what that is; I’ve little time to explain. Leliana can tell you more about it, if you wish to know. However, rather than allow such foul magic to lead to my death, I have determined a way to negate the Calling and save all Wardens from its effects. I am optimistic in my endeavor, though I cannot yet give more information for fear of damaging my good fortune in this matter._

_ I have also included a note of a personal nature for Leliana. Please see that she gets it. _

_ One last thing, Inquisitor. I was not there for the death of Divine Justinia, but I know it will have hurt Leliana terribly. While her wits and skill are amazing, Leliana’s greatest strength lies in her faith, and to have Justinia die like that strikes at her very core. I beg you, if she is faltering, help her find her way back into the light. _

_ Yours, _

_ Warden-Commander Elora Tabris of Ferelden _

I glance up at the rookery to Leliana’s office, feeling a great weight settle over me.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, moving between Dorian and Solas gently. I take the stairs quickly, winding back through the library to the second set. My original reason for finding Leliana pales in comparison.

I find her at her desk, reading a series of scrolls with a grim expression.

“Leliana,” I murmur. 

She glances up. “Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

I nod. “I’ve received work from the Hero of Ferelden.”

Leliana’s expression clears immediately, and she breaks into a beautiful smile that I’ve never seen before. “Ellie wrote to you? What did she say? How is she?”

“She says she’s doing well. She didn’t know about Corypheus, but she says she’s on a path to discovering a cure for the Calling? She included this for you.”

Leliana takes the letter eagerly. She opens it in front of me, reading it slowly. She grins, laughs quietly, and then smiles with more difficulty. Her eyes flood, and I find my feet, giving her privacy to read the rest.

Several minutes pass before Leliana gives a soft sigh. She refolds the letter, pressing it to her stomach in a tight, protective fist. “Forgive me, Inquisitor. It has been…a long time since I last saw her.”

I smile at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you and the Hero were together. You’ve never mentioned her.”

Leliana smiles again, tucking the letter securely into her robes. “I do not mention her for fear she may be used against me. Few know about us. After the Blight, she became Warden-Commander, and I was called to Justinia’s side.”

“She obviously loves you,” I murmur.

“She is a rare light in a world full of darkness,” Leliana says softly. “I wish I—”

“Excuse me, Inquisitor, Sister Leliana,” an agent says, bowing. “Message for you.” He offers a scroll to Leliana.

She takes it, ready to set it aside when she sees the sigil on the seal. Her eyes widen a fraction in surprise, and she opens it quickly. I watch, concerned, as her expression flits from shock to sorrow to something utterly unreadable. She sets the letter down, her eyes growing thoughtful. 

“What is it?” I murmur.

She frowns, staring at the wall. “A message…from Divine Justinia,” she replies slowly.

My lips part. “What?" I breathe. "Are-are you alright?”

“Thank you for the concern, Inquisitor,” she answers flatly, “but I am. This message was written months…perhaps even _years _ago…to be delivered to me if she died. I’ve heard of such contingency plans. A sudden death often leaves loose ends. I’m to go to Valence, a small village on the Waking Sea. There is something hidden there.”

I nod. “I can help—let me come with you.”

“You cannot be spared from the Inquisition,” she murmurs, almost instinctively.

“We can afford time for this. Valence is not far. This is important.”

She looks up at me. “Thank you, Inquisitor. That is very kind.”

“Would you like anyone else to come? Cassandra or—”

“Just the two of us, I think. But…if what is hidden in Valence is as valuable as I think…we’re not going to be the only ones looking for it.”

“What do you think it is?”

She narrows her eyes. “A key,” she answers vaguely.

“A key?”

“We must hurry,” she says. “Are you ready to go?”

_If she is faltering, help her find her way back into the light._

“Yes.”

***

By the time we reach Jader, the ships have stopped for the night. We stay in the local tavern in their last available room, and Leliana keeps entirely to herself. I try gently to goad her into conversation—to distract her from the thoughts that keep her expression so dark—but when it appears her eyes are simply too distant to really hear me, I give up and let her remain in her thoughts. When I go to sleep, she’s sitting at the desk in the room, flipping a coin distractedly over her fingers. She wakes me only a few hours later, shortly before dawn.

We catch the first boat, and by the time we dock at Valence, the sun has circled over us, casting lazy, evening shadows over the small village. Leliana guides us through the main street, ignoring the curious eyes that peer over at us along the way. It’s a simple village, but the chantry raises over it like a mountain, its exterior magnificent and regal. 

Leliana doesn’t waste time admiring it. She walks determinedly to the door, waving me ahead of her before she closes it behind us again.

Inside, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Perhaps to some it is comforting, but it feels ominous to me. Perhaps it’s Leliana’s warning—that we may run into others—that has me on edge, but I look up at the statues adorning the walls, and I feel a sense of foreboding. One stands proudly, a sword thrust into the earth. The next statue carries an urn, his face hidden in the crook of his arm as he bends from the weight of his burden. The last statue is crying in his knees, his face hidden in his hands as he clasps something tightly.

Can’t say I’m all that familiar with Andraste’s story, but I’m so far not digging the general theme here.

Leliana walks to the end of the rug at the entrance. She removes her cowl, her red hair shining brilliantly in the light from the stained glass. She stares up at the statue in the center of the chantry, her blue eyes gleaming. She kneels before it, bowing her head in reverence. I look up at Andraste, offering a weak smile to her marbled face as I fold my hands behind my back awkwardly.

“It is just as I remember it,” Leliana murmurs fondly, standing again.

“You’ve been here before?” I ask just as softly. It feels wrong to break the silence.

“After the Blight ended, I came here to see Justinia. She was just Dorothea then, a revered mother.”

“It’s…peaceful here,” I offer, choosing the kindest word for the eerie silence. “You…must have good memories of being here.”

“It was a place of comfort,” Leliana nods, staring up at Andraste. “It is good to see it still untouched by Corypheus.”

“Leliana?" a new voice murmurs. "Is that you?”

We both look over to see a mother—or...perhaps a sister, I’m not sure what the difference is—walking towards us from near Andraste's statue. 

“Sister Natalie!” Leliana grins, moving closer to her. Her voice is lighter and friendlier than I’ve ever heard—save when she learned of the Hero’s letter. “What are you doing here? I though you were in Val Royeaux!”

“No,” the sister replies, moving past me. I turn to watch them, surprised by Leliana's warm reception. “I’ve been here since Justinia died.” Leliana smiles beautifully, wrapping Natalie in a tight hug. When her face is hidden over the woman’s shoulder, her eyes find mine coldly, and she offers the slightest shake of her head. My eyes widen. “This place makes me feel like…like she’s still with us.” Leliana smiles again, pulling back, and I stand in awe of our spymaster. Not for the first time, I thank the gods that we're allies. 

“Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs warmly, “this is Natalie, a trusted friend.” Sure, Leliana, sure, sure.

Natalie starts. “Wait—_Inquisitor_?” she repeats, staring at me. “You…you _brought _the Inquisitor…here?” Natalie forces a smile, but she just doesn’t have Leliana’s skill. “My lady,” she says, dropping to her knee. “Forgive me for not recognizing you earlier."

“Go and read the Chant of Light _three times_ for this transgression!”

Leliana laughs once, sighing. “She doesn’t mean it,” she says when Natalie looks up at me. Natalie offers a wry smile as she stands. “Natalie, listen, there is something hidden here. Something Justinia left for me.”

I glance at Leliana instinctively before looking up at the statue above her to hide it. She knows what she’s doing, even if I do not.

“Oh?” Natalie muses. “Really? What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Leliana admits. “But we’ll find it. I’m curious to see what brought us all here. Justinia’s letter came with instructions for me. They were a little cryptic.”

“Find the third white stone on the tapestry behind the darkest column and tap it three times,” I muse, realizing only after I’m finished that I'm being disrespectful.

Leliana smirks. “If only they were so clear.” She looks at the letter, reading aloud. “‘Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch, that light has no fear of darkness. Above all, that strength lives in an open heart.’”

I frown. “Once more?”

She repeats it slowly, and I glance around the chantry.

“Fair warning, I’ve a terrible memory,” I mumble. “Is that…an Andrastian thing? Does that make sense to you?”

“No,” Leliana murmurs. “Not entirely.”

“She must be hinting at something in here,” Natalie suggests. “Let’s look around.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, looking over the statues and the tiles of the floor for anything obvious.

“Do they still sing verses from the Benedictions every Friday?” Leliana wonders fondly as we all separate. “That canticle was Justinia’s favorite.”

“Yes, of course,” Natalie answers. “We’d never give up on the traditions of our most beloved Divine.”

“Mm. That is lovely to hear,” Leliana murmurs softly.

Against the wall, I see a line of paintings, and I walk over to them briskly. “Leliana!” I call carelessly. “I mean—Leliana!” I whisper. “Sorry—what was the first part again?”

“‘Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch.’”

“Look,” I say, pointing to the painting before me. In it, a branch reaches across the foreground, a single bud adorning it—one small but beautiful flower pale against the dead bark beneath it.

Leliana stares at it a moment, looking a little pale when I thought she'd be pleased. She glances down and then reaches below the painting. A small plaque addresses the name of the painting and artist. Leliana runs her fingers over it, and I watch as she pushes something in it. A loud crack echoes behind the walls, and Leliana smiles at me.

“Two more,” she murmurs. “Well done, Inquisitor.” She looks at the painting, her expression growing far away again.

“Leliana?” I say softly.

“I was in a cloister in Lothering when the Blight began,” she says so quietly I barely hear her. “There was a lot of fear back then. No one knew what was going to happen, whether we would live or die. And then one morning, I found a single bloom on a dead rose bush. It had been dead for months—everyone knew it, but there it was, this…small, tiny rose. And I thought, ‘even in the midst of all this, life finds a way…the Maker hasn’t abandoned us…’”

Her voice is so sad, so lost that I recall the Hero’s words once more. Leliana stares at the painting a moment longer before she moves her head down and walks away.

I watch her go, my chest tightening. Her faith is shaken. That much is clear. Our gods were taken from us, but her god turned away from her. 

I chew my cheek, folding my hands as I walk along the walls, admiring the paintings more carefully now.

“I stare up at the Breach sometimes,” Leliana hums, her words no longer directed at me. “It’s terrifying but beautiful in its way.”

“It is beautiful,” Natalie agrees.

“Have you seen it by sunrise?”

“When the sun rises through it, it splits into what looks like a thousand suns…like a broken mirror.”

“Yes,” Leliana muses. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”

“Here,” Natalie says suddenly. “What was the third line?”

I move over to her and Leliana quickly. “‘Above all, that strength lives in an open heart.’”

Natalie points to the painting across from her. In it, a man stabs a woman through the heart. I wince. Huh.

Leliana reaches for the plaque, pressing another button that shifts something in the walls. “‘An open heart,’” she murmurs. “Well, that one’s quite literal. And morbid,” she adds with a soft chuckle that surprises me. “But Justinia always said that compassion was my greatest strength. ‘Doubt is easy,’ she’d say. ‘It takes courage to trust.’”

I look at Leliana again, and I realize that I’ve been viewing Justinia and the temple abstractly. It was easier to disassociate from the horror, but seeing Leliana now, hearing the pain in her voice as she speaks of the woman…Justinia was more than a figurehead. She was a friend, a companion, a mentor, a—mother. A leader and a reminder of Leliana’s faith.

I suddenly recall Leliana and Cassandra’s anger and fear when I woke up in the dungeon in Haven. They thought I was capable of not only destroying the Conclave but of taking from the world such a beautiful, righteous, sensitive soul, someone Leliana and Cassandra admired and respected and honored.

“What is the last one?” Natalie wonders, breaking me from my thoughts.

“‘That light has no fear of darkness.’” Leliana turns, looking up at the windows and where the sun hits the chantry. She glances over at the candles, searching. Finally, her eyes brighten. “Here,” she says, reaching behind a large brazier beside the enormous statue of Andraste. She presses another button, and an echo shifts under our feet. Something clicks behind me, and I turn to see a painting lift off the wall and slide away to reveal a hidden room. Inside, a table stands with a single, ornate box waiting in the center.

I turn back to grin at Leliana in time to see her pull her cowl up over her vibrant hair and pin Natalie to the statue of Andraste. Just as quick, she raises a blade to the sister's throat.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Leliana says, her voice cold and dark again.

_If she is faltering, help her find her way back into the light._

“Leliana, stop!” I exclaim, moving next to her. “What are you doing?”

“Protecting us,” she replies without looking at me. “They never sing the Benedictions here on Fridays, Natalie. Something so simple, and you got it so wrong. I wanted to believe, but you were lying from the start.” Natalie glares at Leliana, letting her feigned confusion fall away. “Keep that pretty mouth shut if you must, dear. You’ve already told me everything I need to know. The prickleweed burs on your hem, talking of the sun rising through the Breach. It all points to a single place: Morelle in the Dales. Grand Cleric Victoire’s bastion. She sent you, didn’t she? Victoire always was an opportunist.”

“The Inquisition has turned Thedas away from the true Chantry,” Natalie seethes. “It must be stopped.”

“You would stop us?” Leliana laughs humorlessly. “You must be joking.”

“Mother Victoire is well-loved by many. The Inquisition has more enemies than you know.”

“And Victoire thinks she can ally with them?”

“Wait,” I say quickly, placing my hand on Leliana’s shoulder. “We don’t have to be at odds, Natalie. We want the same thing—the return of peace to Thedas. We _all _share the _same _enemy—Corypheus. You could come with us—you could join the Inquisition. We aren’t spurred by a religion, and I have _never _claimed to be Andraste’s Herald—we just want peace and order restored and justice to be given to Corypheus.”

Natalie doesn’t even look at me, her glare focused on Leliana. “I was called to serve the grand cleric. I will not betray her. Kill me. I am not afraid to die for my beliefs. At least _I _still know what I believe.”

“Leliana," I implore, "don’t do this.”

The spymaster shakes her head. “The grand cleric—”

“Is _one _woman,” I reply quickly. “_We _are the Inquisition. Don’t do this—_here_, of all places. Leliana, this isn’t necessary.”

She doesn’t move, her blade still pressing into Natalie’s neck, drawing pearls of blood.

“I see what you’ve become,” Natalie says, closing her eyes. “‘The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their—’”

Leliana pulls her blade across the sister’s throat, and I stare in horror as the woman falls to the ground, gasping. She struggles for a moment and then stills, blood pooling at her feet.

_If she is faltering, help her find her way back into the light. _

“Leliana,” I breathe.

“I did what must be done,” she answers coldly.

_Tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry; I failed you, too.'_

Leliana casts a quick glance at me before moving to the small room behind us. She reaches for the box, hesitating briefly before she opens it.

“No,” she gasps. “This can’t be it! There’s _nothing _here!”

“Look at the lid,” I say quietly, pointing past her to something scrawled there.

Leliana frowns, looking closer. “‘The Left Hand should…lay down her burden…’ She…She’s releasing me.” Leliana bows her head, resting her hands on the table. “The Divine has a long reach, but it is always her Left Hand that stretches out. A thousand lies, a thousand deaths. Her commands…but my conscience that bore the consequences.”

“What she said in the Fade…”

“All this time,” Leliana murmurs, “Justinia carried the fear that she was using me, just like I’d been used in the part. But Marjolaine’s games were trifles. Justinia gambled with the fate of nations. She needed me. No one else could’ve done what I did. She knows that. It was duty—_our _duty.”

“She’s saying you have to let that go now—let _her _go. You don’t owe her anything anymore.”

“No,” Leliana disagrees. “Sacrifices must be made. Justinia was a good woman, but she knew that, too. Bribes, blackmail, deaths—those were my trade. I did the dirty work she couldn’t do herself, because even from her throne in Val Royeaux, she knew what must be done. I will not give the Inquisition anything less.” Leliana closes the box, pulling it with her as she steps back into the chantry. She barely glances at the sister bathed in her own blood in this place of worship. “Justinia tried to save me, but all it’s done is made me realize I don’t _need _saving. There is work to be done.” Leliana turns to me, her eyes calculating and unreadable. “I will not falter again.”

***

Leliana is quiet on the boat ride home, and we ride back to Skyhold in silence. I give her the space she needs, watching the road instead. When we get home, Leliana asks me to meet her in the morning, and then she disappears to the rookery. I spend the evening quietly with Solas, a book open in front of me, though I don’t see the words or turn the pages. When we go upstairs, I lay against Solas, unable to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about the Hero’s words and the way Leliana killed that sister inside the chantry without reservation, hesitation, or even regret.

In the morning, I dress slowly, walking with Solas to his study. He notices my reticence, but he doesn’t comment or pressure me to explain. I leave him in the atrium, climbing to Leliana’s office at the top. I edge closer to her desk as she leans over it, an Inquisition agent speaking with her.

“…have us do, my lady?” the agent asks, hands clasped firmly behind his back.

She narrows her eyes thoughtfully, looking at the note before her. “Grand Cleric Victoire wishes to make an enemy of the Inquisition?” she murmurs. “I’ll give her what she wants. Doesn’t Victoire have a young cousin? Lord Firmin? She dotes on him.”

“Yes, mistress,” the agent replies. “I believe that is so.”

“Good,” Leliana purrs, her voice dark. “Have him…collected. He shall be an honored guest. And make sure the grand cleric hears about it.”

“At your command,” the agent responds, offering a bow to each of us before he leaves.

I lean against Leliana’s desk, my fingers splaying across the wood. “A little…harsh, don’t you think?” I murmur.

“Harsh times call for harsh measures, Inquisitor. You see, when I am ruthless, it gets us where we need to be. It’s something to be proud of. Why fix it? How funny that Justinia’s regret is what finally puts mine to rest. I _chose _to become her Left Hand, knowing what it meant. It was my weakness that stopped me from fully committing to my task.”

“You have a good heart,” I disagree softly. “It’s not a weakness. _Mercy _is not a weakness.”

“It is for a spymaster,” she replies. “Mercy does not get us answers; compassion does not help us defeat Corypheus. I know my place. I was lost before, but I see now what must be done. The Inquisition needs me, just as the Divine did, to do what no one else dares. Death and deception are my trade. It is what I am. It is what I always will be.” She gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Now, did you need something?”

I stare at her a moment, and then slowly look down. “No,” I murmur reservedly. “Thank you for your work.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. I am happy to do it. Our work must continue uninhibited. Thank you for joining me in Valence.”

I nod and turn around. I take the stairs slowly, running my fingers across the stone of the wall beside me. I pass through Solas’ study to the bridge connecting the atrium to Cullen’s office. I lean against the stone wall, looking down at the stairs below me.

The Inquisition has gained Lady Nightingale, but I fear it cost us Sister Leliana.


	45. They Call You Broken

I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my gloved hand, gasping for air. My arms are sore, and my lungs are bursting as I step back. 

“Don’t stop now, darling,” Dorian calls, waving me forward.

“I don’t—want to hurt you,” I gasp to Iron Bull.

The Qunari laughs loudly, lowering his practice shield to glance at his lieutenant. “Did you hear that, Krem?”

“Why's—that so funny?” I huff.

“She _is _a mage,” Krem points out, “_and _the Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, waving at him vaguely in appreciation.

Bull laughs again. “C’mon, boss. I’m ready.”

“Stop laughing!” I command through my own breathy chuckle.

“Get over here ‘n make me.”

I glare at him, summoning a small ball of fire.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Come on—boss, just try to hit me once. Should I stand still?”

I narrow my eyes at him, walking backwards. Bull mirror me, walking forward to keep the circle between us even. I toss the fireball into the air with my staff, hurling it towards him quickly. Bull throws his shield up, casting it aside too easily. He runs at me. I dodge his wooden sword, skirting to the left. He moves back immediately, anticipating my reaction.

“Watch his left!” Krem hollers.

Bull’s shield swings at me. I duck under it, rolling forward. I cut my arm on a rock before I jump back up, and I silently curse myself. I throw ice at his leg, trapping his foot to the ground.

“Breathe through the spell,” Dorian calls. “Don’t let him break it.”

I focus my energy forward, breathing out slowly. Bull takes his shield in both hands and slams it against the ice several degrees harder than I anticipate. The ice shatters after one blow, and he tosses a wooden dagger at me before he lunges again. I whip my staff through the air, casting aside the dagger, and I lift it up high to block his sword, but I can’t use my left hand to balance it.

“Fuck!” I gasp when his sword crashes against my fingers. I nearly drop my staff.

“Drop your weight,” Bull pants. “Don’t let me get the upper hand.”

“Watch his left,” Krem warns again.

I duck under his shield again, rolling forward. This time, I propel myself between his legs. Bull's laugh roars out over the courtyard. “_Good_, boss! Take advantage of your height. Don’t let some big bastard like me get the better of you or intimidate you.”

“You think you intimidate me?” I challenge breathlessly. Solas grins, watching from his position against the wall, his arms crossed.

Bull laughs loudly. He thrusts his sword toward me again. I duck under it, slamming my staff against the back of his leg. He staggers forward once—barely.

“Put your back into it,” he encourages. “You almost had me.”

“No, I didn’t,” I pant.

He steps backwards, moving his shield at me. I don’t see it in time, and he slams it against my back. I jog forward a couple steps to keep from falling, and then I whip around. I throw a fireball at him, and he swats it away easily.

“Damn it,” I cough.

“You’re not even trying,” Bull complains.

“He can take a hit,” Dorian shouts. “Trust me.”

“No one ask him why he knows that,” Varric calls loudly, making me laugh. “Seeker, get on in there.”

“Two against one is hardly fair training,” she replies. 

“It’s fair against a mage. Go on.”

“Inquisitor?”

I nod at her, ducking below Bull’s sword when he uses the distraction to his advantage. I chuckle at him, flashing an unearned, cocky grin. He pushes his shield at me as Cassandra flanks him. I dodge under his hit, pushing off Cassandra’s shield when she raises it. She steps back from the force and then comes at me again. I throw ice at Bull’s foot to stop him and then dive past Cassandra, kicking the back of her leg when I land. She falls to one knee, but she recovers too quickly for me to take advantage of the minor victory.

“Sword,” she calls, holding out her hand. Krem tosses her a wooden one, and I grin.

“C’mon, Cass, don’t go easy on me,” I breathe.

"I've never gone easy on anyone in my life.”

I huff a laugh. She lunges towards me. I block the attack with my staff, moving my weapon around her waist. I put some force into it, switching places with her swiftly in time to avoid the brunt of Bull’s shield. It bangs against my shoulder, and I take a few steps to avoid falling. I wipe my forehead again with my glove, panting.

“Need a break, boss?” Bull teases, his smirk insufferably arrogant.

“No. Do you?”

He laughs again, the sound a rumbling roar.

“Watch for their weak spots,” Cullen says. “They both have one—everyone does, even Corypheus. Watch for it, and then strike.”

I nod, lifting my staff higher.

“Use your left hand,” Bull calls. “It's staggering you to keep it down.”

“I don’t need it,” I reply, shifting my weight and planting my feet. “Come on.”

Bull and Cassandra rush at me. I dodge his shield and her sword, pushing off her shield to launch myself at Bull. I slam my staff against his sword, but he anticipates the move, grabbing my staff and roughly pulling it out of my hand. He moves his sword swiftly up to my neck, grinning.

“Dead,” he smirks.

I sigh heavily, stepping back. He throws me my staff again.

“Get that left hand up, boss,” Bull says, his tone warning. “You're letting it handicap you.”

“I don’t _need _it,” I repeat, charging at him. I dodge under his sword, slamming my staff against his leg. He stumbles, and I try to trap his leg, but he spins around remarkably fast, pointing his sword at my chest.

“Dead,” he says again.

I push his sword off, backing up a step. I drop my weight again. Cassandra spins and launches her shield arm at me. I dodge it narrowly, stopping Bull’s sword with my staff. I throw an ice dagger at him, tossing a fireball at Cassandra’s feet to make her back up a step. I flip my staff around, slamming it into the ground. Both Cass and Bull stumble backwards from the force, and I pant, using the time I’ve gained to trap Cassandra's boot in ice. Bull charges, and I throw a fireball at him. He ducks under it. Instead of stopping, like I think he’s going to, he charges faster, bounding over to me in just a few steps. He tackles me to the ground, and I growl in surprise. I lift my staff to his throat, and I’m about to slam my left elbow against the ground with a spell to gain leverage when I hesitate, uncertain what will happen.

Bull makes a face at me, bringing his wooden dagger to my throat. “_Dead_.” He gets up off me and pulls me to my feet like I don't weigh anything. I guess to him, I probably don't. “You’re letting that hand become a liability, boss. It stops you. Makes you hesitate. You can't keep holding it back.”

“Better than opening a vortex in the middle of a fucking fight,” I mutter.

“No, because now you’re dead, and that’s not better.”

“I’m fine. Just keep going.”

Bull huffs at me.

“C’mon, Snow!" Varric hollers. "You got this.”

Bull charges at me, and I bend at the waist, dodging his sword and slamming my staff into his waist. I push him back a step, but he’s too big to try to beat that way. I swing my staff around before turns back, hitting the backs of his knees. The force of my magic making him kneel, and I pull my staff up to use the blade, but before I can seal the deal, Cassandra pulls me off him.

Bull hops up, his shield moving just as quickly. I’m focused on Cassandra, so I don’t see his arm moving towards me. His shield cracks against my shoulder, and I stumble, landing on my knee. I gasp, panting. Cassandra comes at me, and I use my staff to deflect her sword. I throw myself forward, rolling into her legs. She loses her balance, tripping over me. I grab her shield with my left hand, throwing it away from her.

“That’s it!” Cullen approves.

Cassandra grips her sword with both hands, leveling it at me. Bull’s shield comes from nowhere, and I barely avoid it in time. I try to trip him, but he dodges me easily, knocking my foot aside with his. I throw up an ice wall between me and Bull, trapping him temporarily. My lungs ache as I pant, and my shoulder is throbbing, but I smirk at Cassandra, waving her forward. She lifts her sword, lunging at me. It slams against my ribs when I dodge the wrong way, misinterpreting her swing. I grunt at the impact, gripping my staff tighter. I move forward, focusing on her next swing. I see the shadow of Bull’s shield heading for a collision course to my back. Instinctively, I throw up my left hand. Fear grips me, and I hesitate again, terrified of what I might unleash. Before I can correct the instinct, Bull’s shield slams against my back. I cry out in surprise—and pain—and land on my knees hard.

“Snow!”

I turn around, freezing Bull’s foot where he stands. When he hesitates, I thrust my staff up at his neck breathlessly, effectively killing him. He smirks at me, nodding.

“Good, boss,” he chuckles.

Cassandra lunges at me, and I jerk myself into a roll, getting to my feet quickly. She lunges at me again, and I see that she leaves her left side open for a _fraction _of a second when she does that. She’s used to having her shield there.

I back up quickly, throwing a blunt ice dagger at her. She casts it aside easily, and I step back again, waiting for her to lunge. She swings her sword at me, and I misjudge her intended direction again, dodging right inside of left. Before she can hit me, I whip my staff across her waist, throwing her behind me as I switch places with her. She jogs a few steps before pulling back. She feints left, and I dodge wrong again, receiving a bruising slam of her sword against my hip. I gasp, moving my left hand there as I back up.

Cass charges at me, and once again, I think I know what she’s doing to do. She surprises me, swinging her sword around widely—a new move I haven’t seen her use. I jerk back, falling to the ground. I stare up at her as she brings her sword down. I kick her leg out from under her, and she lands on top of me, struggling to get the upper hand. I wrestle with her, jerking my staff against the ground. The resulting burst of energy flips us over, and I try to grab my dagger, but she lifts her foot between us and kicks me off powerfully. I grunt, falling back as I hear Cullen and Varric call conflicting orders at me. I hold my ribs, rolling to my feet again.

She stands, gripping her sword tightly. I pant and grunt, circling her as I wait. She swings her sword at me again; I try to sidestep it, and she grabs my wrist, pulling me back. She lifts her sword to finish me off, but I throw my staff up, catching it just in time. I grunt at the pull on my right arm, but I manage to cast her blade away from me. I hop back a few steps, dropping my weight. Cassandra finally lunges again. I drop to a crouch, spinning my leg around hard. Her ankle drops out from under her, and she falls to one knee. I roll over to her and press the dagger end of my staff to her ribs.

It takes a second for me to realize that I just won, and then I grin breathlessly. 

Cass looks up at me, panting in surprise as she concedes with an impressed nod.

Varric, Krem, and Dorian shout and clap in praise.

I let out a victorious exclamation, lifting myself slowly to my feet. I wipe my forehead again, grinning.

“Fenedhis,” I gasp. “You two—are impossible—”

“Well done, boss,” Bull roars, patting my back so hard I fall to my knees, earning another round of laughter. "Crap, sorry!"

I chuckle, patting his hand away when he offers to help me up. I rest back on my heels and lean against my staff as I gasp for air. I glance up to see Solas smile at me, a note of pride in his expression as he nods once. I return the smile breathlessly before I look around for Cullen.

“Shit,” I whisper, wincing at my sore muscles as I lift myself up. “Cullen,” I call, waving him over.

He uncrosses his arms and moves past the others towards me.

“Notes?” I pant, looking up at him.

He grimaces sympathetically. “Your left hand _is_ holding you back.”

I nod. “What do I do instead of using it? I can’t—trust it, so—”

“You have a good fighting stance. Most mages struggle up close, but you have good instincts. To make up for the—”

“Inquisitor!” Dagna exclaims. I glance over to see her jogging across the courtyard eagerly. She nearly runs into a group of soldiers as they switch duties, but she barely seems to notice. 

“Dagna,” I pant, waving.

“Are you training? This is _perfect _timing! Hi, Commander Cullen!”

"Dagna," he replies. "How are you?"

“_Wonderful_! Solas!” she hollers, waving him over wildly.

I turn back to see him push off the wall and head over. I smile at him, and he returns it sweetly. I glance at Cullen and then Dagna, who literally can't stand still for her excitement.

“Have you finished it?” I pant hopefully.

“Have I _finished _it?” Dagna repeats with a scoff. “I’ve _mastered _it! Look, look, look!”

Solas comes to my side, moving his hand absently to my back as Dagna presents a box. She rips its lid off, holding it up to me eagerly. 

“Solas and I spent _hours _and _hours _and _hours _trying to figure out how to allow the magic to pass through the glove without negating its power while also limiting the Anchor’s ability to affect your magic _while also _ensuring its healing properties weren’t altered _while also _trying to control the negative kickback when you close a rift.” She takes a breath. “And I think we finally have it!”

My lips part, and I drop my staff, pulling the glove up delicately. It’s light—_very _light. Lighter than the previous iteration.

“Put it on!” Dagna exclaims. “Let’s test it!”

I ease my other glove off, looking for what to do with it. I’m on the verge of tossing it down when Solas extends his hand. I look up at him, and he smiles at me so sweetly that I realize he _knows _it will work this time. I grin, shaking a little in excitement and fear.

I pull the new glove on slowly, closing my eyes briefly at the way it hugs my skin. 

“How does it feel?!” Dagna asks.

“Good. Great,” I breathe. “It’s—cool. Why is it so cool?”

“That’s the lyrium! See?!” She takes my hand, running her finger down the back of the glove. Long, thin lines run up from the cuff of the glove to each of my fingers like bones. I see the fluid running through it, and I feel its effects in my hand—pure power. The veins glow a soft green, rather than the lyrium's usual blue.

“Why is it green?” I wonder.

“Because I tinted the tubing around the lyrium! Green is _your thing_! It’s the color of the Anchor and—oh, and your eyes! I never noticed that! Your eyes are so pretty!” I laugh softly. “Anyway, since the glow of your hand will be mostly hidden, the lyrium will glow instead, flashing that same green…glow! I didn’t want to lose the inspiration of your abilities while I negated the bad reaction.”

I continue admiring the glove. It fits my hand perfectly, hugging me like a second skin. I run my fingertips against my thumb, feeling the gesture through the light fabric. It's not leather. I don't know _what _it is, but it feels soft and wonderful. 

“Dagna, this is—”

“I know!” she squeals. “I haven’t slept for three days putting all the final touches on it! Did you know that if you mix lyrium and coffee together, you’ll hallucinate?! I didn’t know that! It didn’t happen to me, but Harritt might have some, uh, complaints later.”

I laugh. “Is he okay?”

“Oh yeah! He’s much better now! I _did _tell him not to drink my coffee. Now that I think about it, I wonder what would have happened it I _had _drunk it! Would _I _have hallucinated? What do you think, Cullen? Ah, who cares?! Not about what you think, I mean! Just the thought. I’m really tired. Coffee is good! Test it out, test it out!”

I look at Solas worriedly.

He rubs my back, his fingers soothing me. “I’ve run dozens of tests,” he murmurs. “It should work perfectly now.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, searching his eyes. He smiles at me softly, his expression adoring. There is an underlying confidence in his eyes, and it makes me feel more secure. 

I glance back at the Varric and the others as they laugh and talk.

“Guys!” Dagna shouts. “We’re trying the glove out! _Get over here_! Let’s all watch!”

Cassandra picks up her shield and heads over. Dorian stands to my right. It warms my chest and makes me feel even safer when Solas stands immediately to my left, a further indication of his faith in the invention. Cassandra waits in front of me as Cullen crosses his arms, watching worriedly. The others watch from a safe distance. Varric smiles and nods at me encouragingly. Krem looks up at Bull questioningly, and I guess he explains, because Krem looks at me again with a concerned expression.

“Are you ready, Cass?” I ask.

She nods. “Are you sure you want me to nullify you again, Inquisitor?”

Cullen looks up at me sharply. "_Nullify _you?" he repeats incredulously.

“If I get out of control,” I nod immediately.

“Alright,” Cass sighs unhappily.

"Surely there's another option," Cullen argues, frowning at her. 

"It's okay, Cullen," I reply quickly. "It's my idea. Last time got a little...out of hand, to put it mildly. I feel safer if she can nullify me."

Cullen grimaces unhappily, crossing his arms. 

“Dorian?” I murmur.

“I’m ready, Sul.”

“Solas?”

He moves his hand to my back again, murmuring quietly in elven. I smile at his encouragements, my chest warm as I nod.

I lick my lips and breathe through them slowly as I extend my left hand. My heart hammers in my chest, and I realize I’m shaking. I look up at Cassandra again, and she nods.

“We’re right here,” she adds when I still seem worried.

“It will work, vhenan,” Solas promises.

I nod again and swallow loudly. I breathe out as I tighten my hand into a fist. I murmur a soft word, breaking my fist open again. An ice dagger hovers above my fingers, perfectly formed. I smile at it hesitantly, swallowing thickly again. I throw it to the ground, watching it sink into the grass. I wave my hand over the dagger, creating a more solid block of ice.

I breathe out, terrified, and tighten my fist again. I look up at Cassandra, seeing her watch me with a wary eye. Cullen watches my fingers, glancing up at me as I look at Dorian. He keeps his hand extended, ready to intervene. Solas stands beside me, utterly relaxed and unconcerned—confident in his work.

I close my eyes and murmur softly, forming the words with care. In an instant, a flame dances across my glove. I watch it for a long moment, making sure it’s controlled before I breathe life into it, allowing it to grow. I flip my hand over, holding the flame upside down. The lyrium at the back of my hand flares brilliantly, and I feel its subtle effect minimize the Anchor’s pull on my mana. The green light bursts from the glove in slits, blinding to look at directly.

I curl my fingers together and then flick them out. The fire bursts wide, and I throw it at the ice block, watching it melt to water. I feed the flame, tossing it up into the air, watching it disintegrate. I grin, giddiness making me shake more, but I maintain control. I wait a second and then try lightning, reaching up to the sky to pull down a bolt powerfully. It slams into the ground with a clap, and I hold it there, watching it flicker and flare. I close my eyes at the natural, pure feeling of the magic pulsing through me evenly, and I grin again.

“It’s working,” Solas says proudly.

I look at him, my eyes flooding, and his expression softens. I laugh giddily, turning to Dagna. I rush at her, bending down to hug her. She laughs, surprised as she hugs me back.

“This is nice!" she exclaims. "We should do this more often!”

I laugh hysterically, drying my eyes.

“Now, we need to find a rift,” Dorian muses.

I look up at him, swallowing and nodding. I step back to Solas, flexing my hand into a fist, testing the stretch of the fabric.

“Will, uh…will you guys come with me?” I ask, perhaps stupidly.

“Of course, vhenan,” Solas murmurs, his hand sliding down to the small of my back. He kisses my forehead, and I smile shakily at him. 

“We’re with you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra nods. “Commander?”

“I can come,” he nods.

“I suppose I can move a few things around,” Dorian sighs.

I laugh giddily at his response, earning his fond smile in return.

***

The snow is thick here—heavy and freezing. I huddle under my cloak, moving my hart slowly along with the others. After a quick check with her agents, Leliana informed us of a rift not too far from Skyhold, well within a day’s journey. Cassandra and Cullen ride up ahead, making sure the path is clear. Varric and Dorian go next, and I pull up the rank with Solas.

“The Veil is thin here,” he murmurs. “It should not be far.”

I think I feel it, too. Magic hums softly in the air, feeling closer than even the snowflakes as they stick to my cloak. I look down at the glove, at the green lines of lyrium, praying to Mythal and all the gods that this works.

“There!” Cassandra calls, pointing across a snowy bank to a flare of green.

“You ready, Snow?” Varric asks, glancing over at me.

“Yep,” I nod, trying to feign confidence. The kind look he gives me suggests I’ve failed completely.

I pull my hart off the road with the others, looking at the rift. Through the wind and snow, the green tear in the Veil shimmers with a violent flutter. A few demons have already emerged, but they wander aimlessly in the snow, perhaps protecting the rift.

I get down quickly and tie up my hart. The others join me as I trudge through the snow.

“I’ll get their attention,” Cassandra says, charging forward.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t die,” Varric sighs, running after her.

“I suppose I’ll do that, too,” Dorian mutters.

Cullen grabs his sword and follows the others quickly.

Solas stays with me. I throw my hood back, looking at the rift. I clench my fist tightly and then find my staff. I hold it delicately in my right hand for a moment before moving it into both. I smile widely at the familiar posture. I jog forward with the others, planting my feet when I get close enough. For a moment, I focus on testing my magic in combat.

I grip my staff in both hands, spinning it quickly. It feels good—so unbelievably natural, like breathing fresh air after emerging from a cloud of smoke.

I grin and whip my staff around, slamming it to the ground. A demon close to me gets struck with lightning, screeching as it falls. I pull my staff up with both hands and swing it around again, unleashing a wave of fire that bursts through a legion of wisps. Varric hollers and whistles, and I laugh giddily, grinning as I spin my staff through the air, whirling it the way Keeper Deshanna showed me so many years ago. I slam it down again, feeling the bubble of magic burst through me once more. Three demons freeze in place, ice so solid that they can’t move an inch. Cassandra looks at me a second in shock before she continues fighting.

I laugh again, feeling free and unchecked—like it was before the Conclave. Magic flows through me evenly, and I take my left hand off the staff long enough to trap a demon in a paralysis circle. I glance at Solas to see him smiling widely at me. His staff isn’t even raised. Instead, he watches me.

Excitement rushes through me in a powerful thrill—pure magic, unaffected, unaltered, flowing freely. I turn to the battlefield again. Now time for the true test.

My heart hammers, and I lift my fingers to the rift. My hand flares through the glove brilliantly, and I wince, waiting, but I don’t feel anything. Being this close, I should have encountered the faint tug of the Fade, the dull ache of its magic, but there’s nothing—nothing except the soft hum of magic.

I grin so wide it hurts, raising my hand up higher. I grip the edges of the rift, feeling its weight in my hand. I tighten my fist, hearing the rift whine in complaint, the magical energy around it peaking deafeningly, but the acheis gone. My hand flares more brilliantly, the color bursting through the lyrium painlessly. 

I clench my fist and then yank it back, forcing the rift to close. I grin breathlessly as I watch it disappear, the slit vanishing like it was never there in the first time. Cass, Dorian, Varric, and Cullen look back at me, their expressions flitting from concern to relief to hope.

I grin madly, staring at the glove. My breath is pulled from me, my excitement overwhelming as it rolls and blossoms in my chest.

I turn to Solas giddily to see his soft smile, his eyes appraising mine with pride and love. All sense of public decency rushes right out of me in the wake of the excitement bursting through me, and I throw myself at him. He catches me with a quiet laugh, and I kiss him with all the abandon of being alone with him.

Varric laughs, and Dorian whistles and claps, and I just grin, kissing Solas like an idiot. Solas chuckles against me, his fingers lacing through my hair. His arm winds around my back, and I grip his jaw with one hand, kissing him fervently for a long, breathless moment before I pull back. I press my forehead to his, listening to Varric and Dorian laugh good-naturedly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes flooding in overwhelming gratitude.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he offers simply in return.

“Thank you for this gift.”

“It no longer hurts?” he checks.

I shake my head, biting my lip to control the way it shakes. 

“Vhenan,” he breathes softly, running his thumb across my cheek to catch my tears.

“I can’t even…explain how good I feel,” I grin. “Thank you—thank you so much—”

I move my lips to his again, rising to my toes.

Dorian fondly hollers something about getting a room, and Varric corrects it with our own mountain, and I just grin and laugh against Solas, delighted and relieved and utterly overwhelmed. I drop my staff, hugging Solas tightly, kissing him for a long moment before I move my head back and hide my face against his shoulder, clinging to him. Solas tightens his grip on me, kissing my hair. Emotions flood me again, and I grin and cry, overtaken by relief and gratitude and staggering affection.


	46. Revelations

I sit on the stairs between the upper and lower courtyards, leaning back to enjoy the sunset. The clouds above are vibrant and vivid—reds and oranges brilliant and stunning.

Blackwall passes me, coming down from the upper courtyard. He glances down at me, perhaps to see why I'm essentially lying on the side of the stairs, and then follows my gaze to the sky before he sits down heavily beside me. “Beautiful,” he offers, gesturing to the sunset.

I hum lightly in response, smiling at the colors.

“Heard about your glove,” he adds, waving vaguely to my hand. He glances at it closer, frowning at he looks at it with interest. “Looks...helpful? Glad it’s worked out.”

I grin and nod. “Me too.”

“Want to...get a drink to celebrate? I’ve a hankering for company.”

“Sure,” I smile. I glance up at the sunset a moment as I stand, brushing my clothes off to rid them of stubborn pebbles.

Blackwall leads us to the tavern, and I smirk when we step inside. Sera is laughing loudly, drinking as she sings along with the bard. Bull and Krem hold up their drinks to me when they spot me, and I grin and wave, moving with Blackwall to the counter.

“Two, uh—what would you like?” Blackwall checks, glancing down at me.

“Whatever,” I reply with a wave. “I’m not picky.”

“Orlesian ale then,” Blackwall orders.

“Oh, not that.”

Blackwall laughs richly at the joke, taking the mugs from the barkeep. He walks when further down the bar, and I sit with him, leaning against the wooden counter.

Sera passes us quickly, done singing apparently. She pokes both our backs and then pretends like she didn’t. I grin at that, shaking my head. I hear Bull and Krem laughing, and I glance back at them, delighted to see everyone enjoying the night. Dorian walks in, drags a chair, and sits next to Bull. He takes his mug and sips it, recoiling in disgust as Bull laughs loudly.

I chuckle and turn back to my ale, taking a sip. I wince at the bitterness, glancing at Blackwall only to see him stare at his mug distantly.

“Are you alright?” I murmur, leaning a little closer to him.

He nods. “Yeah, sorry. Big night for you. Don’t let me spoil it.”

“What's on your mind?”

“Nothing, it's—nothing. You should be...laughin' with them or…spendin' time with Solas. You don’t need me wastin'—”

“Blackwall,” I say firmly, narrowing my eyes at him. "You're not wasting _anything_. Talk to me."

He glances at me, huffing a heavy sigh. “I was just...thinking.”

“About what?”

He look down. “It’s…” He sighs again, and his expression grows more solemn. “When I was a boy…there were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father’s house. One day, they found a dog. A wretched little thing. It came to them for food. They caught it, tied a rope around its neck, and strung it up.” I stare at him, my chest tightening. “Do you know what I did?”

“You—stopped them? Cut the dog down.”

Blackwall’s expression tightens, and he slowly shakes his head. “I did _nothing._ Not a damn thing. It was crying. I saw the kicking legs, the neck straining and twisting…” My eyes flood, and I look away, feeling sick. “And I turned around, went inside, and closed the door. I could have told my father or alerted someone. I didn’t. I just _pretended _it wasn’t happening.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Why...why are you telling me this?” I wonder.

“We…_could _make the world better." He stares at the counter, his expression disdainful. "It’s just easier to shut our eyes.”

“You don’t shut your eyes, Blackwall,” I argue. “When we first met, you were saving farmers from demons and bandits, teaching them to—”

“I was just _using _them, because I couldn’t do it by myself.”

“You were conscripting them.” 

“They could've died.”

“They _would have_ died if you hadn’t taught them to fight.”

Blackwall gives a humorless laugh, glancing at me. “Look at you. _You_ would’ve done the right thing...We’re lucky there are people like you in the world, not just people like me." His eyes grow distant again. "There’s always some dog out there, some fucking mongrel that doesn’t know how to stay away.” Blackwall stares at the counter, shaking his head. I search for something to say as Blackwall grabs his mug with a sudden decision. “I think I’m just gonna take this back to my room, if it’s all the same to you. Sorry, Inquisitor.”

“Blackwall, wait,” I say quickly, reaching for his arm when he slides off his bar stool.

“I meant what I said, my lady,” he says, looking at me earnestly. “We’re lucky to have you. You’re a good woman. The world’s a better place with you in it.”

His tone sends a thrill of fear through me; I don't know why. “Blackwall,” I say imploringly, gripping his arm tighter as if to make him stay through sheer force. “You _are _a good man. You were just a-a boy back then. You’ve done so much to help people. You’ve saved my life countless times. You’re a _Grey Warden_—you don’t become one of those by turning away from people in trouble.”

He snorts humorlessly. “You exiled the Wardens.”

I blink. “That—doesn’t mean I don’t respect their…sacrifice, their bravery. That was—”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, my lady. Quite the contrary. You make the tough decisions. The ones no one else has the balls to make. You’ve done a thousand brave things, and I’ve never seen you back down once.”

“You’re just not around me enough,” I joke weakly.

He shakes his head, looking up at me sadly.

“Blackwall, wait, don’t _go_. Stay, drink, talk to me.”

He gently pulls away from my hands. “I think I just need some space to…think. Forgive me, my lady.”

“Blackwall—”

“It’s alright. I’ll—see you tomorrow.”

I watch him go unhappily before turning back to the bar. I sigh at myself, shaking my head. Well done, idiot.

***

In the morning, I wake up slung haphazardly across Solas while he sleeps. I wince at the bright light, recalling the drinks I had after Blackwall left. Recalling and regretting. I groan and roll over, hiding my face in the pillow.

I lay there miserably until Solas wakes up. He kisses my forehead, and I groan.

It takes me a few good tries to sit up, and when I do, I groan again. It takes even _more _energy to pull my leggings on and find a shirt. Buttoning it is a challenge, and I groan louder before giving up, settling on it being merely half-buttoned. Solas gives me an affectionate smile when I turn around to glance at him. 

“Come here, vhenan,” he murmurs softly.

“My name is death,” I whisper back, huffing as I move back to the bed. 

He chuckles as he takes my hand. “Lie back.”

I sigh and fall backwards, wincing again when the motion throbs inside my head. “Seemed like…such a good idea last night. Why...why is alcohol so cruel...”

Solas purses his lips, fighting his smile. He moves onto the bed, pulling my head up into his lap softly. I close my eyes as he presses his fingers to my temples, and then I give a breathy hum of relief when his soft magic eases my headache. He murmurs quietly under his breath, and by the time he's finished, I'm better than new.

I open my eyes, grinning up at him. “Thank you, ma lath.” I sit up and kiss him, smiling against his lips. “I’ll see you later?”

He nods languidly, kissing me again. He raises his hands to my cheeks, seeming reluctant to let me leave, and I'm in no position or frame of mind to pull away. His lips move against mine for a long, delightful moment, and then he pulls back, pressing his forehead to mine.

“I forgot what I was going to go do,” I admit breathlessly.

Solas chuckles softly, kissing my forehead. His fingers are so tender on me as he brushes my hair behind my ear that I blush richly. I press my lips to his again, kissing him fervently. He smiles against my lips, his fingers trailing down my neck lightly enough to raise goosebumps. It's another long moment before I remember why I need to leave. I pull away from his kiss with difficulty, finding his eyes. He admires me with an adoring expression, and I almost forgo the whole day in favor of spending it in this bed with Solas.

I give a regrettable groan. “I really screwed up with Blackwall last night. I have to go talk to him, make sure he's alright. And then we will _definitely _pick this back up." Solas grins, amused by my reluctance. I work my way back off the bed, cold outside of his embrace. "I love you,” I add, smiling broadly.

He returns the sentiment in elven, smiling at me affectionately as I braid my hair and finish buttoning my shirt. It takes all my willpower to not jump back into bed.

I take the stairs down briskly and come out to the main hall more or less together.

When I reach the stables, I realize I've not yet successfully come up with something to say to Blackwall. I can’t possibly mess it up any worse, though, I suppose, so that's something. Nowhere to go but up. 

I poke my head inside to see the barn empty. I sigh and glance up the stairs where I know he sleeps. I move closer to the fire, trying to hear if he’s moving around at all. As I turn back to the door, I spot a note pinned to the little wooden toy griffin he’s been making. I step closer when I see my title.

_Inquisitor,_

_ You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve given me the wisdom to know right from wrong, and, more importantly, the courage to uphold the former. _

_ It’s been my honor to serve you._

Another thrill of fear runs through me. I pull the letter off the toy, frowning down at it. I march up the stairs to Blackwall's room, and my heart stops when I realize all his stuff is gone. 

***

“Inquisitor.”

I turn around, pulling my thumbnail out from between my teeth and dropping my hand. “Agent?”

“The spymaster has confirmed it. Blackwall is gone.”

“Go on,” I urge. “Leliana knows where he is, right? She knows everything.”

“She doesn’t know everything,” he replies. “Yet. Lady Nightingale had us search the Warden’s quarters. Not much to find, except this.” He hands me a bit of parchment. “It was missing from last week’s reports. I don’t know what Blackwall’s interest in this particular matter is, but it could be a good place to start.

“Thank you, agent,” I say distractedly, turning the crumpled paper upside right.

_Lieutenant Cyril Mornay, one of the soldiers responsible for the Callier Massacre of 9:37, was captured in Lydes. Like the others who were arrested for their involvement, Mornay insists that he did not know who he was assassinating, and that he was just following the orders of his captain. This captain, Thom Rainier, is still at large. Mornay is to be executed within the week in Val Royeaux._

I frown, sighing out heavily. I look up at the wall, chewing the inside of my cheek. I hesitate only a moment, and then I walk briskly through Solas’ study, taking the stairs up to the rookery.

“Leliana,” I say, approaching her desk. 

“Good, you’re here,” she replies, glancing up at me. “I imagine you’re going to ask about the Callier Massacre?”

“What is it?” I nod.

“I haven’t been able to receive word soon enough. I imagine the reports are on their way. I also imagine you will want to go to Val Royeaux.”

“That must’ve been where Blackwall went, right?”

“I believe so,” she nods. “I can’t say for certain, of course, but I also don’t know why he would have stolen this from our reports if it wasn’t important.”

“Do you think…his family was massacred?”

“Speculating may get us nowhere," she answers. "The only way to find out for sure is to speak with him. Come. Let us bring the matter to the commander's attention.”

***

It’s raining when we finally reach the courtyard outside the jails in Val Royeaux.

A grotesquely large crowd waits before the galley. A man rests on his knees on the platform high above, his shoulders slumped. His noose has already been fashioned, hanging limply as it waits for its target. The executioner waits behind it, a black hood pulled over a black-and-white skeletal mask. I hesitate outside the crowd, trying to search through it to find Blackwall, but I can’t see with so many people. Dorian, Varric, and Solas stop beside me.

“Cyril Mornay,” the guard calls, hushing the chattering crowd. “For your crimes against the Empire of Orlais, for the murders the General Vincent Callier, Lady Lorette Callier, their four children, and their retainers, you are sentenced to be hanged from the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

The man simply stares down at the ground, crying silently as he waits.

“Very well.”

The executioner pulls the man to his feet.

“Who is this man to Blackwall?” Dorian wonders quietly. “A brother? A friend?”

“I thought we were more civilized than all this,” Varric grumbles. “Who are all these people?”

“Human justice,” Solas mutters with disdain as the executioner loops the noose around the man’s neck.

“Proceed,” the guard calls.

“_Stop_!” someone orders. 

Everyone turns, and I look up sharply at the sound of Blackwall’s voice.

He rushes up the steps to the hanging, and I stare at him in confusion.

“A Grey Warden,” the guard sighs impatiently. “Are you here to conscript?”

“This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him!” Blackwall calls. “Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!”

Mornay frowns at Blackwall. A split second later, his expression clears. He gasps audibly, his eyes widening. 

“Then find me the man who gave the order,” the guard commands.

“Oh, shit,” Varric mutters.

“Blackwall!” I call, breaking through the crowd.

He starts a little at the sound of my voice, looking down at me with regret. He shakes his head. “No. I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall.” I freeze, frowning in confusion. “Warden Blackwall is dead…and has been for years.” My lips part uncertainly. “I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I really am.”

“You,” Mornay gasps. “After all this time…”

“It’s over," Blackwall continues. "I’m done hiding.”

“What’s going on?” Dorian breathes, arriving at my side.

“_I_ gave the order,” Blackwall says to the guard. “The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainier.”

My mouth falls open more, and Blackwall looks away from me, holding his head up. The guard and the executioner grab him, pulling him roughly off the platform.

“W-wait!” I call a second late, pushing through the crowd again. “Let-let me through! _Wait_!”

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” Blackwall says as I struggle to reach him.

“Please, let me through,” I call again.

Gasps of my title echo, and the crowd parts.

“Thank you,” I gasp, hurrying. “Guards, wait, just a moment, please, let me—”

“We’re getting the prisoner into a cell, elf.”

“She’s the Inquisitor, you bloody idiot!” the executioner snaps.

“Regardless, take it up with the guard-captain. Take him inside.”

I watch as the door slams closed in my face. A second before it shuts, Blackwall looks back at me, his expression tortured, and then he’s gone.

“Allow me, Inquisitor,” someone murmurs behind me. A hand presses against my back briefly as he passes me. 

I look up sharply. “Cullen? How—what are you—” 

“Leliana sent me just after you left. I’ll have a word with this guard-captain. If you want to see him, that is.”

“Of course I do. Please,” I murmur, gesturing to the jail house.

“Wait for me here. I shouldn’t be long.”

I sigh, turning away. I find a bench and sit, drumming my fingers against the wood as the others join me.

“Well…this is a…twist,” Varric offers.

“You do not always have to _say_ something, child of the stone,” Solas mutters.

“Just…tryin’a lighten the mood. Curly gonna get us in?”

“He’s trying,” I reply quietly.

Varric glances at me. “You okay, Snow?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure there’s an ex—”

“An explanation?” Dorian finishes scathingly. “An explanation for why he’s lied to us for months?”

“Alright, Sparkles, take it down a notch.”

“You heard the charges.”

“Yeah, but I also believe in letting a man speak for himself.”

“Fair enough,” Dorian allows. “But it doesn’t change the fact that he lied.”

“And I’m sure he had a good reason. He’s been with us for months. We know he’s a…good man.”

“Do we?” Dorian wonders. “We apparently don’t even know who he is. And those charges? Murdering a _family_? Children?”

“Alright, Sparkles,” Varric sighs again, sitting next to me. “Solas? You’ve been quiet. Any thoughts?”

“What is there to say?” he wonders, standing close beside me.

“Snow? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I shrug, frowning at the ground. “I think I just want to talk to him…see what…what he has to say.” I squint at a crack in the road. “What are we supposed to…do?”

“We’ll figure it out after you talk to him,” Varric murmurs. “Do you want someone to go with you?” 

“No,” I reply softly. “Thank you. I’ll just go in myself.”

“Is that…safe?” Dorian wonders.

I frown again. “He isn’t dangerous.”

“We don’t know that.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me. Or any of us. Besides, he’s in a jail cell.”

The door opens briskly, and Cullen steps out.

“Well?” I murmur.

“They’re being difficult,” Cullen sighs, coming to a stop before me.

I try to look up at him, but the sun blinds me. I stand and fold my arms loosely across my stomach. “Will they let us in?”

“Yes, but they want a couple hours first.”

“Why?” I sigh quietly.

“They said so they can get the whole story from him.”

I sigh again. “Alright. That…makes sense.”

“Are you alright?” Cullen asks softly.

“Yes,” I murmur. “Just…a shock.”

“Of course,” he nods. “Well…we can wait here if you’d like. There’s a café not too far from here. I…imagine you aren’t hungry, but you should have something to drink, perhaps—get out of this rain for a bit.”

“Alright,” I agree, glancing at Dorian’s soaked clothes and Varric’s damp hair.

“It’s this way,” Cullen says, gesturing forward before leading the way.

I walk beside Solas, finding his hand. He takes my fingers firmly, his grip soothing and securing. As Cullen said, it isn’t very far. The café is the ground floor of a building without exterior walls, allowing the cool breeze to waft through the dining area. We’re seated, rather lavishly, at a table near the street, and I choose a place where I can watch the rain. Solas sits beside me, his hand moving on my back rhythmically and soothingly. We order a round of drinks, each of us sipping quietly and waiting. Cullen keeps a careful eye on the time, informing us when the two hours have slowly passed.

We return to the jail together, and then I leave the others in the courtyard, heading into the prison myself.

“Rainier, right?” the guard asks me at the front desk.

I nod silently.

“Last cell on the left,” he says, jerking his thumb to the gates behind him.

I walk through them quietly, seeing the jail cells mostly empty, apart from a couple sleeping men. A guard nods at me when I get to the lower level, and I make my way slowly to the end of the long line of cells, finding the last one on the left.

Blackwall sits against the wall, slumped a little as he stares at the ground. The vision of him like this breaks me a little. I recall a strong, upright man who trained with me, made me laugh, joked with Sera—the man who had a crush on Josephine and chortled with Varric late into the evening about silly things.

I suddenly realize with a jolt why he wasn’t suffering from the Calling and why he was always so cryptic about the Wardens. I thought he was being secretive. I suppose in truth, he just didn’t know.

I look down, licking my lips carefully as I try to form a sentence or a thought. If Blackwall sees me, he doesn’t let on for a long time.

“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life,” he says quietly, speaking as if to himself. “I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man…the man _he _was…wouldn’t have let another die in his place.”

I approach his cell, resting my hands on the bars. “I…I understand why you lied,” I murmur.

Blackwall closes his eyes, sighing. “Even here, you won’t yell at me.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“Maybe.” He looks away from me. “Why are you here?” he wonders softly.

“I…wanted you to know you aren’t alone in this.”

Blackwall gets up angrily. “Don’t you understand?” he shouts, his volume startling me and hurting my ears after the silence. “I gave the order to _kill_ Lord Callier and his entourage, and I _lied _to my men about what they were doing!” He grabs the bars of the cell, rattling them loudly. I jerk back in surprise, regretting the action immediately. Blackwall glares at me, the hatred in his eyes alarming. “When it came to light, I _ran_!” He jerks the bars again, and I watch him, my heart pounding erratically. “Those men—_my men_—paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man!” I look down when I realize my eyes are flooding to hide the reaction. I hear someone coming briskly, and I glance over to see a guard. I wave him away politely. He hesitates, looking at me concernedly before he nods and returns to his post. “_This _is what I am!” Blackwall continues. He slides against the bars until he falls to his knees, his voice lowering. “A murderer—a traitor…a monster.”

I wipe at the tears when they fall swiftly so he won’t see. “You’re more than that,” I whisper.

He bows his head against the bars, his hands slipping until they hit the damp stone. My lip quivers, and I clench my jaw to still it.

“May I ask you something?” I murmur when I can trust my voice.

“Haven’t you heard enough?” he replies quietly.

“Who was Blackwall?”

He hangs his head more, and when he speaks, his voice is so lifeless that it twists agonizingly in me. “We met in a tavern when I was on the run. I was nothing, a waste of life, but he wanted to recruit me. We headed to Val Chevin for the Joining, but Blackwall insisted on making a stop along the way. An old ruin from one of the previous Blights. He said it led to the Deep Roads. I was to go down alone, find a darkspawn, and fill a vial with its blood. When I returned, I found the Warden ambushed by more of the creatures. He took a blow for me…he shouldn’t have died. It should’ve been me.”

“Blackwall,” I whisper, my voice tight from the emptiness in his.

“I’m _not _Blackwall,” he says. “I’m nothing.”

I close my eyes, parting my lips when more tears slip down my cheeks. My throat grows hot with a lump, and I try to swallow around it. 

“I wasn’t worthy,” he murmurs quietly. “He…he would’ve wanted me to carry on to Val Chevin, I’m certain. But without Blackwall, there was no proof that I’d been recruited, that I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t go to the Wardens, but I couldn’t just walk away. So…Rainier died. And Blackwall lived.”

“Who were you…before?” I whisper. 

“I…was a captain in the Orlesian army. Well-regarded…respected…but it wasn’t enough. One mistake. One mistake, and everything I worked for fell apart.”

I swallow, breathing in sharply through my nose when it runs. He hangs his head more at the sound, weakening. “The man on the gallows—who was he?”

“My second-in-command. He was a good man. When I heard he’d been caught, I…was resolved to stop his execution. He didn’t deserve to die for my mistakes.”

I clench my jaw, feeling sick. I press a hand to my stomach. “What did you do?” I ask as evenly as I can.

He doesn’t respond for a long time. “I betrayed the empire and assassinated a general. All for gold. The man was General Vincent Callier…My employer was a chevalier, Robert Chapuis. Ser Robert believed that Grand Duke Gaspard was the rightful ruler of Orlais and would eventually take the throne. He thought that by eliminating one of Celene’s loyal supporters, he might endear himself to the true emperor. I can’t say if Robert’s plan would’ve worked. I didn’t care. There was good coin offered, and I took it. By the time Ser Robert’s involvement was uncovered, I was long gone. Of course, the grand duke disavowed any knowledge of the act and publicly condemned it. Robert killed himself.” I close my eyes briefly. “Poison in his wine. Another victim of the Great Game.”

I scan the cracked stone, following the long, black crevices as they skirt across the floor like hairline fractures.

“What did you tell your men?” I wonder after a long moment. 

“They didn’t know who they were attacking. I told them it was an important mission. They trusted me without question. Just as your men trust you.”

I close my eyes again, clenching my jaw against a wave of nausea. “Did you…” I lick my lips, making my voice firmer. “Did you know he was with his family?”

“No,” Blackwall whispers. “I didn’t know Callier was traveling with them. I assumed only soldiers, armed guards.” I look down, moving my hand higher on my stomach. “My men had been told to eliminate _everyone_. They’d seen war. They thought they were defending their country. No one likes to think about that, but it’s names that carry power in this world. Bloodlines. Heirs. No matter how leaders like Celene or Gaspard pretend the Game is played, that’s how _real_ war is waged.”

I stare at him in horror. “You’re defending the murder of children,” I whisper.

“I’m defending the honor of my men. They did as they were told, as _I _told them to do—like soldiers do. I’ve been on enough battlefields to know the same crime at the right time would’ve earned a medal.”

I step back, clenching my jaw tightly when I feel my stomach flip.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Inquisitor. You…were an inspiration to me. I’m sorry I broke your trust.”

I close my eyes, lifting a hand to them.

“Go back to Skyhold, my lady. You don’t need to see the rest.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” I say thickly.

“There’s nothing you can do. Leave me. _Go_!” he suddenly shouts, and I reel back. He looks up at me, jerking the bars loudly. “Go,” he orders, his eyes tightening when he sees my tears, “and don’t come back.”

I turn around, walking briskly down the hall. I wipe my nose and cover my mouth.

I make it upstairs, stopping when I’m alone. I press my hand to the wall, leaning over, certain I’ll be sick. My fingers shake against the stone wall, and I breathe unevenly, trying to fight the wild roll of nausea. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen says worriedly, walking briskly to me.

I wave my hand, standing up. “I’m alright,” I breathe through my teeth. I move my hand back to my stomach. I glance up at him to see his expression soft with concern. “I need some air,” I add quietly. “Can we—speak outside?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen says, reaching for me. He stops himself, gesturing forward instead.

I walk ahead of him, and then he comes around me to push the door open. It’s stopped raining outside, and I look up when I see the others waiting near the benches in silence. I turn to Cullen, swallowing thickly.

I wipe my eyes swiftly, standing straighter as I clear my throat. “Commander,” I say firmly, forcing an air of authority.

His expression softens at my attempt. “I have Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier.”

“What does it say?” I ask, making my tone deeper.

“Looks like our…friend was once a respected captain in the Imperial Orlesian army. Before the civil war, he was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene’s biggest supporters. He led a group of _fiercely _loyal men on this mission and told them nothing of it. His men took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, managed to escape.”

I nod once. “Thank you, Cullen.”

He looks down, frowning softly before he looks back up at me. “Don’t blame yourself. We all made this mistake.” I close my eyes, turning my head when I feel more tears. I cross my arms over my chest, looking down as I breathe slowly through my lips. “What do we do now?” Cullen asks quietly. “Blackw…Rainier has accepted his fate, but…you don’t have to. We have resources. If he’s released to us, you may pass judgement on him yourself.”

I raise my hand, shielding my face for a moment while I pretend to rub my forehead. “What would you do?”

Cullen shifts, his voice angry when he speaks again. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable. He betrayed their trust, betrayed ours—betrayed _yours_. I despise him for it.” Cullen shakes his head. “And yet,” he adds more softly, “he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition…gave his blood for our cause. And the moment he finally shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it. Why?”

I sigh, folding my arms across my stomach loosely. “People change, I guess…_He _changed. He…hates himself for what he did. I think he’s trying to make up for it.” I breathe in sharply through my nose, wiping it. “Sorry,” I add quietly.

Cullen steps forwards once, lifting his hand towards me before he changes his mind and crosses his arms. “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes briefly. “Have Black…” I sigh. “Rainier…released to us, please, Cullen.”

“Of course. We must move quickly. I’ll send word to Skyhold, confer with Leliana and Josephine to determine the best course to take. We need to handle this delicately.”

“Thank you, Cullen. Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

He nods softly. I turn around and walk back across the courtyard, watching the stone as I go. When I reach the others, I don’t bother saying anything, though they all look up at me. I walk to Solas, and he brings me to him, wrapping his arms securely around me as I duck into his chest. I breathe out slowly, staring at the ground. One of his hands laces through my hair while the other runs soothing circles across my back. I frown, struggling to regain control in front of the others, but seeing Blackwall broken on the dirty floor of a jail cell flits through my mind again, and I tighten my arms around Solas, breathing as evenly as I can. 

***

I stare at the chair on the dais, twisting my fingers anxiously.

“Are you ready, Inquisitor?” Josephine asks quietly.

“I’m sorry, Josie,” I whisper, glancing at her. “I know you liked him.”

She looks down. “That’s alright, Inquisitor.”

I close my eyes briefly, taking a steadying breath. “Bring him in,” I say as firmly as I can.

I mount the stairs slowly and sit down uneasily, my stomach churning. Josephine waves at the soldiers at the end of the hall. I move my head up, trying to maintain control, to portray the leader I'm supposed to be. The hall is full of nobles waiting to see Inquisition justice. Cullen and Leliana stand together near the front, watching me sympathetically. I spot Solas at the back of the hall, leaning against the wall beside Varric. I look at him for a long moment, drawing strength from his eyes.

I see everyone here. Sera and Bull watch solemnly from afar. Cassandra stands with her arms crossed angrily. Dorian stands with Cole and Krem. Even Scout Harding and Dagna are here, far at the end of the hall.

Josephine steps to the stairs below the dais, looking up at me. “For judgement this day, Inquisitor,” she announces solemnly, “I must present Captain…Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall.” The soldiers pull him along, and something in me shifts at his uneven posture. He stares at the ground as he walks, stopping before me with his head bowed. “His crimes…well…you are aware of his crimes. The decision of what to do with him is yours, Inquisitor.”

She steps away, and the soldiers back up, watching their prisoner warily. 

I release a quiet breath, my eyes flooding again before I can help it. “I didn’t think this would be easy, but…it’s…harder than I thought.”

“Another thing to regret,” he whispers.

I clench my jaw, fighting for control.

“What did you have to do to release me?” he wonders.

I swallow. “Josephine called in a few favors,” I reply honestly. “There are enough people out there who owe the Inquisition.”

Blackwall shakes his head slowly. “And what happens to the reputation the ambassador has so carefully cultivated? The world will learn how you’ve used your influence. They will know the Inquisition is corrupt.”

I look down, wincing. “I…didn’t want to put Josie in that position, but we had few choices. It was the safest way to get you here.”

“I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all of this to end. Why would you stop it? Why would you bring me here?” he demands, frowning at the stone of the stairs. “What becomes of me now? What is your judgement?”

I glance at Solas, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana. Each of them lent me their wisdom, and we settled on an agreement together. “You have your freedom,” I answer.

Blackwall finally looks up at me, his eyes hollow. “It…cannot be as simple as that.”

“It isn’t,” I murmur. “You’re free to atone as the man you are—not the traitor you thought you were or the Warden you pretended to be.”

“The man I am?” Blackwall repeats. “I barely know him. But he…I…have a lot to make up for.” Blackwall hangs his head before finding my eyes again. “If my future is my own…then I pledge it to the Inquisition.” My eyes flood again, and I look at him with difficulty through blurry vision. “My sword…is yours.”

I smile, tightening my hands into fists. I nod at him formally. I crook my head once so the tears will flow less obviously along my nose.

“If I’d said anything else, would an arrow from the rookery have snuffed me like a candle?”

I quiet laugh bursts out of me, and I look at him. “Take your post, Thom Rainier.”

He ducks his head, dropping to one knee. I feel my face pinch, my resolve crumbling as I struggling to maintain it. “Thank you, my lady Inquisitor. You are…a better person than I could ever hope to be. You shame me…but I hope to one day be worthy of your grace, friendship, and honor.”

My vision blurs again wildly, distorting the room, and I stand. “You already are,” I whisper before holding my head up again. “His shackles, please,” I say evenly to the guards. I glance at Josephine to see her offer me a kind, warm smile. I descend the stairs slowly, holding my head up as the room breaks into quiet whispers. I look at Solas as I pass him, moving into his study. He follows me, and I turn to him as soon as he closes the door, ducking into his chest. He rubs my back, and I close my eyes, breathing out a heavy sigh. Relief courses through me, and I hug Solas tightly, glad to hopefully see things return to some semblance of normalcy. Whatever counts as normal anymore in Skyhold.


	47. Well, Shit

I wake up still exhausted, unable to even open my damn eyes. As I slowly regain consciousness, I realize I am not, in fact, on my mattress upstairs. Instead, I am literally sleeping on top of Solas. My brain tries to remember what we were doing. I vaguely recall books and some discussion about the Fade. I open my eyes blearily to see the carefully stitched fabric on the back of the couch in Solas’ study. Solas is beneath me, breathing evenly and deeply as he sleeps. I hear the melody of his heartbeat under my ear as his chest rises and falls. I look down to see one of his legs propped up against the back of the couch and then sleepily roll my head over to see that his other leg fell off the side, his foot resting on the floor below. I slowly realize the reason is because he ran out of room. My hips are flush against the couch, my legs stretched out to the other arm of the couch. I must have pushed his leg off sometime in my sleep. 

I should feel guilty about that, but I’m just too damn tired. I give a pathetic groan, rolling my head back over to face the back of the couch where the light is dimmer. One of Solas’ hands is pressed lightly against my back, but I realize that my other hand is intertwined with his slipping off the edge of the couch. That makes me smile blearily; his fingers are loose on mine, his muscles relaxed in sleep. I move my head up foggily to look at Solas, unsure how he’s sleeping so peacefully with me weighing him down, but he doesn’t seem bothered, and I’m _far_ to comfortable to move.

I rest my head back against his chest, facing the darker back of the couch. I close my eyes and am on the verge of falling asleep again when I hear the door open behind me. I can't even respond to it, too tired to move. 

“…can just talk with Leliana about it, and I’m sure—” Cullen’s voice stops, and I’m too drained to even pick my head up or roll it over apologetically.

“Commander?” Cassandra says loud enough to make me wince as she enters the room. “Have you...oh…they are _always _sleeping,” she muses, lowering her voice. My lips curl up into a lazy smile at the truth of the statement. “How do they even _do_ that all the time?” she wonders thoughtfully.

“What, Chuckles and Snow?” Varric snorts, and I wonder how many people are in here. I’m trying to _sleep_. “Maybe they’re in the Fade.”

“Ugh, _why _would they want to go back there?” Cass demands quietly. 

Varric gives the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

“We should…go before we wake them,” Cullen says softly.

“Is Leliana still in the rookery?” Cassandra asks.

“Is that an actual question?” Varric wonders. “She’s always up there.” I frown, exhausted. I tighten my hold on Solas unconsciously, shifting my hips to get more comfortable. 

Cassandra sighs, and when she speaks, her voice is several degrees quieter. “Then let us discuss the matter with her.”

“The Chuckles and Snow sleeping matter?” Varric jokes.

Cassandra gives another heavy sigh, and I hear her feet hit the stairs. “Are you _coming, _Commander?”

“Wha—yes, of course.”

I frown again. I love them, but they're killing me. I'm too tired for so much talking. Solas moves a little under me, his hand sliding midway down my back in his sleep.

“Think she’ll be sore when she sits up?” Varric wonders.

“Probably. Why are you just watching them sleep?” Dorian wonders. Mythal, how many of them are over there? Guys, 

“I’m not!" Varric says defensively. "Curly and the Seeker were!”

Dorian hums. “Poor chap.”

“Chuckles? Eh, I don’t think he’ll be complaining.”

“I _meant _the commander, you pervert.”

“_How_ was that perverted?” Varric scoffs quietly.

“Your _tone_ made it perverted,” Dorian replies. “_Oh, he won’t be complaining._"

Varric snorts loudly at Dorian's lusty reinterpretation. “That was not _at all _how I said it, Sparkles. You hear what you wanna hear. I was just—” The door closes, and their voices finally disappear.

I frown faintly, wondering what the Cullen thing meant, but before I can even attempt to riddle that one out, I pass out again.

I wake up who knows how many hours later in more or less the same position. This time, however, my hand is hanging off the edge of the couch, and Solas’ hands have moved. One is splayed between my shoulder blades while the other is laced around my arm loosely, his fingers warm against my skin. 

I think we wake at the same time, because as I arch my back to stretch it out a little, Solas shifts under me, his hand sliding down my shoulder to rest against my ribs. I hum without meaning to, stifling a yawn. Solas brings his other hand up from my arm to brush my hair softly in response. I smile at that, humming again happily.

“Sorry I literally fell asleep on you,” I mumble against his chest.

His chest moves softly with a silent laugh.

“You _are _comfy, in my weak defense,” I add, my words muffled.

He chuckles again.

“I’m going to move…eventually…”

“Don’t,” he murmurs softly, his voice tired.

I smile. “Okay...you’ve convinced me. Mm, you're...very persuasive,” I reply, my words still garbled.

He laughs a third time, his arm winding slowly around my back until he’s hugging me to him. His fingers wrap around to my ribs, and he gives a content sigh, shifting a little to get more comfortable.

“Am I too heavy?” I ask, stifling another yawn. “Can you breathe? Are you alive?”

Solas just chuckles again, giving a tired, breathy hum as he kisses my hair. I smile broadly at that, warmth flooding my chest. I open my eyes to see the rest of the room, and it startles me when Cole suddenly appears. I jerk against Solas, sighing as I close my eyes.

“Cole,” I complain, my voice still muffled.

“Sorry.”

I huff in response. “How ya doin’, Cole?” I murmur. “Did you need something?”

“The name breaks free, pulls the pain with it, a black wall to shield the self when the sky is rainier…I am well.”

I look up at him, squinting in the bright candle light. “I’m glad. And…Blackwall?”

“He is…lighter. No more secret, no more fear. He can be new. He can be better…He and Sera have been laughing,” he adds with a smile. 

I hum happily, both at the news and at Solas’ fingers as he gently runs them back and forth over my shoulders. It feels so good that I forget to reply for a moment.

“Mm, really?” I murmur so late that it shouldn't even apply to the same conversation.

“Yes. They are _very _loud,” Cole grins.

I chuckle once, humming again as my eyes flutter closed under Solas’ fingers. “That feels amazing,” I mumble so he won’t stop. Solas’ other hand drifts to my cheek. His thumb runs across my skin before he lets it trail down to my arm, his other fingers continuing their gentle path on my back. “Thank you for telling me that, Cole,” I add tiredly. "I'm glad he's doing better."

“Yes. But the Seeker is worried, seeking, searching, scouring. Restless and rigid.”

I frown, unable to open my eyes. “Cass? Where is she?”

“The war room.”

“Think she’ll...be there long?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Cole. I’ll…get right to it…I am…on my way. Inquisitor is on the…on the case.”

I open my eyes again to see Cole has disappeared. Huh. Did I dream…no, no he was definitely there. Pretty sure. Gods, I’m tired.

I glance down to see that Solas’ wolf necklace slid to his side as we slept. I reach for it, fingering it lightly.

“I’m coming up,” I mumble in warning.

I manage to find my knees and climb higher up Solas, collapsing again as gently as I can. My legs lace around one of his, and I hear him pull his foot up off the ground. His leg presses against mine, and he gives another content sigh. Solas sweeps my hair to the side softly, his fingers running longer lines down from my shoulder to the small of my back while I press my forehead to his neck.

“Tired,” I complain, hearing him softly laugh in agreement. “I’m coming, Cassandra,” I add. “I’m on my way…don’t get up, Cass. I'm...almost there.”

Solas laughs again. His hand lifts to my cheek, and I pick my head up to look at him. His eyes are sweet and tired, too. He gives me a tender smile, moving his head closer to mine. I kiss him back slowly, delighting in the way he makes my skin flush and my lips tingle. He pulls away after a moment, kissing my forehead before leaning back again. I smile, my eyes still closed, and I let my head drop down again to his shoulder.

Solas fingers continue to trail down my back, earning pleasant shivers in their wake.

I think I fall asleep once more, because when I become aware of my surroundings, Solas has turned us over. We're on our sides, one of my legs thrust between both of his. His arms are hugging me to him, his breaths soft and light enough that I know he's awake. I move my arms around his back, pressing closer to him. He kisses my hair, his fingers brushing softly against my back once more. 

Needless to say, it takes me a long, long, _long_ time to convince myself to actually get up. When I do, Solas kisses me sweetly, clinging to me—equally reluctant to part. 

By the time I make it to the main hall, I want to turn right around and collapse on top of Solas again. I manage to resist, but it's a serious temptation. I'm on my way to the war room door when I overhear Varric and a dwarven woman talking quietly.

“…appreciate the warning,” Varric murmurs, “but you shouldn’t have come yourself. What if the Guild found out? Or whatshisname?”

“Are you worrying for _me _or for yourself?” the woman retorts, her voice teasing.

“A little of column A, a little of column B. I _am _the expendable one, after all.”

“Aww, don’t worry; _I’ll _protect you. We’ll just have to—” I pass by them, and the woman glances up at me. “Well, this is a surprise.” I stop and smile, waving once to Varric. “You’re the Inquisitor, right?”

“The one and only,” I reply. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was heading to the war room.”

“No worries, Snow,” Varric smiles easily.

“Bianca Davri, at your service,” the dwarven woman says with a playful bow.

“Bianca?” I repeat with a smile, glancing at Varric. “Pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Varric’s is a friend of mine, and all that.”

Bianca snorts. “Be careful saying things like that. Some of his friends you don’t want to meet.” She gives me a once-over and shrugs. “Eh, maybe you do. Who am I to judge?”

“Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus got his red lyrium,” Varric tells me.

“What, really?” I reply.

She nods. “The site of Bartrand’s Folly, the thaig Varric found, has been leaked. There’s a Deep Roads entrance _crawling _the strange humans carting out red lyrium by the handful.”

“How did they discover the location?”

Varric sighs. “There were a few people who knew. Hirelings from the expedition, a couple close friends.”

“_How _they found it isn’t important,” Bianca says. “What matters is we know where they are now.”

“How did _you_ find out about it?” I wonder.

“I told her,” Varric replies. “Right after the expedition, I wrote and told Bianca what we found. I had artifacts that needed buyers, and she had more contacts that would pay for them. Plus, I owed her.” Bianca smirks at that.

“That entrance is near Kirkwall, right?” I check. 

Varric shakes his head. “Well, yes,” he allows, “but the Deep Roads are all connected. Or they used to be—collapses and such…some of them on purpose.”

“They really _are _roads,” Bianca adds. “They spanned the dwarven empire, went to every corner of the continent, maybe further. In theory, you can get to any thaig using the Deep Roads, but in practice…well, there’s a reason nobody uses them anymore.”

“Which is just to say that we don’t actually have to go to the Free Marches. There’s, unfortunately, an entrance in our own backyard,” Varric sighs, “over in the Hinterlands—close to where we found Blackwall, actually.”

I nod. “We need to deal with this. Corypheus has all this red lyrium, and I haven’t messed with his plans for at least a week now, so…”

Varric smirks. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“I’ll keep an eye on their operation. If you’re interested in shutting it down, you’ve got my help,” Bianca says. “Try not to leave me waiting too long, Varric,” she adds with a smirk. “I’ve got my own work to do, you know.”

Varric watches her turn and leave, his expression unreadable. “Right,” he sighs. “That’s…not going to be trouble at all. Let me know where you want to head to that entrance.”

“Bianca, huh?” I murmur, leaning against the table by the fire.

“It’s a common name,” he says, glancing up at me again, “but…she’s one of a kind,” he adds with another soft sigh.

I give a sympathetic expression, patting his shoulder. “I have to go see Cassandra, but we’ll head over to the Hinterlands. We’ll leave tonight or tomorrow, alright?”

“Thanks, Snow.”

I smile at him and head through the main hall quickly. Josephine is talking with a few nobles when I enter her office. I wave and smile, and she bows her head respectfully while maintaining the nobles’ attention.

When I push through the war room doors, I see Cassandra leaning over the map in the center. She glances up at me and sighs heavily, standing up straight. “I can keep staring at this, but I won’t get any closer.”

I shake my head, disagreeing. “No, keep banging your head against the problem. It will go away _eventually_, I’m sure.”

She chuckles, crossing her arms. “I’m _predictable_, I know.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes…possibly…”

“Well, don’t be shy now.”

She looks away thoughtfully. “We saw so many red templars at the assault on Haven. Perhaps all that was left of the Order. What we _didn’t _see what Lord Seeker Lucius. Indeed, I’ve seen no hint of _any _Seekers amongst the red templars. Or anywhere. I have a growing suspicion Corypheus has imprisoned them.”

“Could they be…red lyrium Seekers now?”

“Seekers do not use lyrium. I assume Corypheus gained control of the templars by corrupting the lyrium they were already taking. To do the same to Seekers, you’d have to force the lyrium upon them. That…may be what happened, but it couldn’t have _begun_ that way. We’re missing a piece of the puzzle, Inquisitor. I need to find it.”

“Of course,” I nod. “Whatever you need. I’ll help.”

She looks down, her expression tightening. “I left the Order…but I can never abandon them. I cannot even claim that rescuing them would be beneficial to the Inquisition, but—”

“It doesn’t have to be,” I interrupt quickly, frowning at her. “It’s important to you, so we’re going.” 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she says more emotionally than I’ve ever heard. It makes me want to reach out to her, but I keep my hands folded behind me. “Perhaps Leliana can send her agents to find word of Seekers. I do not know where they might have gone.”

“Of course, Cass. We’ll get her working on it.”

“Thank you. It…means a great deal to me that we find them.”

“Then we will.”

***

I hold my hand up to block the brilliancy of the sun, checking our progress from the camp near the Crossroads. I suppose the Hinterlands doesn't _like _its travels making good time, because we have not made it terribly far all morning. I'll be happy if I never have to look at a hill again after this trek. 

Sera and Blackwall have somewhat fallen behind while Varric and Solas walk alongside me. 

“I imagine she’ll be just outside the entrance,” Varric says, not for the first time. 

I think about teasing him, but something about his nature today seems a little nervous, so I choose sincerity. “It’s by the lake, right? The entrance?”

“Yep. Under that small hilly-mountain-thing just behind it.”

Well, I _tried _to be sincere. “Mm, the small hilly-mountain-thing,” I nod seriously. “I know just the one.”

Solas smirks at me while Varric laughs. “Shut up, Snow.”

I grin as I look ahead. We left our mounts at the Inquisition camp, figuring we wouldn’t need them. It’s further than I remembered, though.

“So…Solas,” Blackwall muses after a while.

“Blackwall,” Solas replies neutrally.

“Sera and I were just talking about you…We need you to settle a question for us.”

Sera breaks into a mad fit of giggles. “Ye doin’ it _now_?” she laughs. “Oh, this’ll be _good_.”

Solas sighs heavily. “_Sera’s _involved? So the question will be offensive.”

I grin at him as Blackwall releases a loud chuckle. “Yes, probably,” he allows. “Sorry...You make friends with spirits in the Fade, right?”

“Yes?” 

“So…” Blackwall chuckles. “Were there ever any that were…_more _than…_just _friends?” Blackwall chuckles again as Sera giggles madly. “_If _you know what I mean…”

My stomach seizes up as I try desperately not to laugh.

“Oh, for—_really_?” Solas demands, and I lose it. I throw my head back with a loud laugh, resisting the urge to hug onto Solas’ arm.

“Look!” Blackwall says defensively with a broad grin. “It’s a perfectly _natural_ thing to be curious about!”

“For a twelve-year-old!” Solas retorts, and I die again.

Blackwall chuckles. “It’s a simple yes or no question!”

“_Nothing _about the Fade _or _spirits is simple. Especially not _that_!”

Blackwall laughs loudly. “So, you _do _have experience in these matters!”

“He does!” Sera cackles.

“I did not say that,” Solas replies curtly.

“Don’t panic!” Blackwall laughs. “It’ll be _our _little secret.”

Solas huffs once. “Ass.”

I lose it again, and I can’t resist grabbing his arm, hugging it tightly while I laugh.

“_Now_ who’s twelve?” Blackwall guffaws.

“Oh my gods,” I gasp, wiping my eyes with one hand. “_Blackwall_.”

“I’m just curious! Aren’t you a _little _curious? Even just a _little_?”

“Ma ghilana,” I sigh with another chuckle. I grin up at Solas. He rolls his eyes, looking playfully annoyed. “You and Sera spend entirely too much time together.”

“She gets me,” Blackwall sighs fondly.

“Looney,” Sera giggles.

I shake my head. “For the love of Ghilan’nain, tell me we’re close, Varric, before he comes up with another question.”

Blackwall cackles once more.

“We’re…close,” Varric says so unconvinced that I laugh again.

“That was _not _promising,” I muse.

Varric flashes a grin at me.

“Hey, Solas,” Sera calls. “How d'you say, ‘excuse me’ in elven or wha'ever?”

Solas glances back at her, surprised. “For you, it would be ara seranna-ma. It is coincidence that your name is within.” I smirk at him, grinning widely before I release his arm to mount the hill. The melody of our language hums against my skin; I love it when he speaks elven. 

“Thanks!” Sera calls. “Now when I _don’t_ say it, you’ll know it’s on purpose.”

“Sera, why?” I sigh, trying to fight a smirk. 

She giggles madly, skipping ahead of us into a field of tall grass. I roll my eyes.

I glance down, shielding my eyes from the sun. “Is that a—”

“A rift,” Blackwall sighs. “Great.”

I flex my left hand, playing with the glove. “Not a problem,” I grin.

I lope off down the hill. Sera laughs out of the back of her throat, speeding up. Blackwall catches up to and passes us, calling the demons to him as he roars. I smirk, moving around the other side. I grip my staff with both hands, enjoying the spike in power as magic courses through me uninhibited. I spin my staff in the air, slamming it down on the ground when a rage demon slinks over to me. A block of ice sturdily catches and traps it, and I call down lightning to three wisps and a fear demon as they try to flank Blackwall. The wisps disappear, and the fear demon screeches in anger before weakening. I throw out a paralysis glyph before two shades and then burst the fear demon into flames.

I thrust my left hand up to the rift, tightening my fist quickly. I close my eyes, focusing on the edges of the tear, and when I find them, I pull the rift sealed in record time.

Varric comes to a breathless stop beside me. “You know,” he says, “what I’m learning about two-handed Snow is that she’s completely overpowered.”

I grin and laugh, giddy with another successful test of the glove. I find Solas, enjoying his look of pride as he smiles warmly at me.

“That was pretty good,” Sera agrees, doing a quick cartwheel as she skips back over to us.

“Thank you, Sera,” I say suspiciously, waiting for the follow-up joke.

“What!” she laughs. “I mean it! Less demons for me to fight, innit?”

I narrow my eyes more, and she giggles, rushing back up the hill past me. We follow her, and I pay glance around carefully to make sure we’re still heading in the right direction—with Sera leading, who knows where we might end up.

“So, _Solas_,” she hums, her voice teasing as she runs her fingers across the tallest blades of grass. “You 'n the lady Inquisitor…_Interesting_.”

“Your interest is not my concern,” Solas replies.

“That’s alright, because I _meant _boring. The elf always takes the elf so bumpin’ bits will mean somethin'.”

I gape at her wide-eyed, appalled.

“It is not a topic for discussion,” Solas says, his tone final.

“Oh, c’mon, drop ‘em ‘n rebuild the empire,” she snorts, adding a choice noise at the end.

“Sera!” I exclaim, my cheeks flaming. “Stop!”

“Pfft, fine, wha’ever.”

Solas places a hand on my back briefly. “Don’t concern yourself, vhenan. She is…apart from herself.”

I shake my head, looking away from everyone with red cheeks.

“Ooh, I’ve embarrassed the lady Inquisitor,” Sera giggles.

I huff at her. “Sera, I swear to Mythal, I will—”

“Who?” she wonders, putting her hand to her ear. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Sera, you’re beginning to—”

“Just _beginnin’_ to?” she replies with a snort. “Hm, must not be tryin’ hard enough.”

“Fenedhis,” I sigh.

“Fene-wha? That one of them silly gods you keep talkin’ to? Don’t you ever wonder why they don’t answer? _Maybe _it’s ‘cause they don’t like you. Andraste’s Herald. Maybe you offended them.”

“Why are you acting like this today, Sera?” I demand, frowning at her.

“It’s not me! It’s him! ‘N you! All this _oh, ancient elves _'n _oh, gods, hear my prayers _'n _we must rebuild the empire and speak elven so other elves know we’re better than them_. It’s all that _nonsense _about elven glory 'n who said what 'n what happened who knows when, 'n you know what? _Who cares_? Maybe elves _were _a thing, but they’re not anymore. Calling Mythifis’ name or prayin’ to Fenny-wha’ever’s not gonna help you down here. Makes you look as stupid as Coryphiphus, 'n I know you’re not, so stop actin’ like it.”

I stop walking, staring at her angrily. “What do you _care _what I think or who I pray to?”

“_I _don’t. Problem isn’t what _I _think. It’s what _you _think. You put your face tattoos out there ‘n walk around with your funny clothes sighing ye gods’ names—everythin’ just _beggin’_ that we notice _oh, she’s Dalish, she must be a better elf than me_.”

My lips part, and I feel my eyes sting—an embarrassing and infuriating reaction to anger. “I—I _wasn’t_—”

“Fact is, you ‘n elfy here think you’re better than other elves. You sit in your room all day thinkin’a ways to prove it, even going as far as to bump bits to—”

“Okay!” Varric shouts. “New topic!”

I sigh heavily, biting my tongue as I walk forward again. Sera skips ahead of us, and I glare at the ground. Solas moves his hand to my back, and I sigh again, looking away in embarrassment.

“Blackwall,” Varric says, “uh, worst thing you’ve ever eaten. I had this imported ham from Anderfels once. It tasted like despair. Literally.”

Blackwall chuckles. “But you prob’ly got to wash it down with expensive wine. Mine was two-year-old hard tack. You can’t scape off the blue anym—”

“Okay—nope, no, none of that,” I say quickly, waving my hands. “No gross food talk.”

Blackwall smirks at me. “Alright, how ‘bout this one? Best tavern name you’ve ever seen? I’m torn myself between The Bed ‘n Book It and The Bottom of the Barrel.”

“_Oh_, that’s a tough one,” Varric says eagerly. “I think I have to go with The Neighbor’s House, for sheer balls. What about you, Snow?”

“Uh…” I look over the hills to the right. “What Ales You.”

Varric and Blackwall both laugh loudly. “Oh, that’s a good one! Where’s that?” Varric asks.

“I made it up,” I admit. “The only two taverns I’ve been to are Gull’s Tavern in Redcliffe and Herald’s Rest.”

“_What_?” Varric exclaims.

“That’s impossible!” Blackwall agrees. “_How _can that be?”

“Pro'ly 'cause she’s too _elfy_ for the likes of us,” Sera replies.

I sigh heavily and glare at the ground again. Solas rubs my back again.

“Well, that _is _an _excellent _tavern name, Snow,” Varric says, nudging my arm lightly. “We oughtta go into business together.”

I chuckle softly.

“And I’m taking you to Kirkwall when this is done so we can visit the famed Hanged Man. You’ll love it.”

“I went there once,” Blackwall muses. “Must be…ah, twenty years ago now. It was a dive, if I can remember currently.”

“It’s _the _dive, filled with the best and worst people you’ll ever meet.”

“Funny that it’s a haunt of yours.”

“A _haunt_?” Varric repeats. “It was _home_. So how ‘bout it, Snow? Drinks at the Hanged Man when we’re done?”

“I’m game,” I nod distractedly, looking over the hills at a large shadow moving quickly towards us. I glance up, and my eyes widen in wonder.

“Shit!” Blackwall calls. “Inquisitor, down!” He grabs my arm, pulling me to my knees as he raises his shield up over us swiftly.

I glance past his shield, staring at the high dragon soaring overhead. If she notices us at all, she doesn’t let on. Her scales glint gold and orange in the sunlight. Her wings are massive, easily larger than our biggest aravel back in my clan. Her enormous arms and legs are tucked under her in flight, claws longer than most people's swords shining in the light. The horns adorning her head jut out gracefully, firm and strong. When she passes harmlessly, Blackwall releases me with a weighted, relieved sigh. I stand up, grinning in wonder as I admire her wingspan again. Solas stands beside me, watching me. The powerful sound of her wings drifts to me even after she bursts through a ring of clouds and disappears.

“That was _amazing_!” I gasp with a smile.

“That was a _dragon_,” Blackwall huffs unhappily.

“She didn’t do anything,” I say, still staring at the clouds. “She just flew by.”

“In my experience, dragons aren’t known for being that kind.”

“She was _beautiful_! Did you see her wings? The _colors_?”

Solas smiles softly when I grin at him.

“Are we going after it?”

I turn around, frowning at Blackwall, confused. “What? No? Why? Oh—so we can see her closer? _Did you see her land_?” I gasp excitedly, whirling around again. "_Where_?!" 

“_What_?” Blackwall demands. “So we can _look _at—_no_! Absolutely not! So we can _kill _it!”

I turn on him again, glaring this time. “We’re not _trophy _hunting, Blackwall.”

“It’s not a _trophy_. It’s a civil service. That beast could burn down a village.”

“She hasn’t yet,” I retort. “There are few enough dragons in the world without us helping them become extinct.”

“Alright, Inquisitor,” Blackwall sighs. “Apologies.”

I pick my staff back up and walk ahead again. Solas comes to my side, offering the ground a soft expression, his smile kind.

“What?” I murmur curiously.

“Nothing,” he replies quietly, looking at me with adoring eyes. “You just…constantly surprise me.”

I smirk. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

He smiles. “As it was intended.”

Sera comes running over. “Did you _see_ that thing! Andraste’s tits! That was _huge_!”

“Look,” Varric says, cutting off the conversation. “There’s the cave entrance.”

“Where’s Bianca?” I wonder as we round the lake.

“She must be inside.”

“I thought she was going to wait for us?”

“Bianca is a lot of things, but _patient _isn’t one of them.”

I snort. “Woman after my own heart.”

We move into the cave, finding a door at the back of it—stone and dwarven-made.

“Well, guess she’s been through here,” Varric mumbles, gesturing to the ajar door.

We move through it cautiously, and Blackwall closes it behind us.

“Hm,” Varric whispers, “she’s not here.” We walk through a dark, slim cave, the walls closing in on us the further we go. Varric sighs heavily. “I hate these underground places.”

“Worried about a cave-in?” I wonder, checking the walls and ceiling as the floor dips. I watch my footing on the slope, wary of tripping and taking everyone down with me. 

“No, just—in general.”

I grimace. “I get that. Feels a little…tight.”

“And it’s always so dark,” he sighs.

I light a flame with my left hand.

“That’s better,” he mumbles. “Thanks, Snow. So you mages are good down here, then?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“You can still—reach the Fade or whatever it is you do?”

I chuckle quietly. “Yes.”

“Good. No reason…”

I smirk at him.

We make it to a larger corridor, the walls opening up into an enormous cavern. I breathe out a quiet sigh of relief. Ahead, a massive, thick set of stone stairs leads to a second level. Statues raise up over what must be a bridge, their arms raising to the ceiling high above.

“Huh,” I smile, pointing. “That’s clever.”

“Holding the ground up…or…ceiling?” Blackwall mutters. “I like that.”

“_Finally_!” someone whispers loudly.

Varric and I both jump.

“I started to think you weren’t coming!” Bianca adds, moving out of the shadows.

Varric lets out a surprised laugh. “Nobody _said _you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited!”

“Well, I _did _wait,” she chuckles, “so let’s make this quick. These idiots are carrying red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don’t wanna stick around long enough for it to start ‘talking’ to us.”

I blink, inclining my head. “Sorry, uh, we don't want it to what now?”

Varric looks up at me. “Red lyrium has this…song. It kind’a gets in people’s heads.”

“Oh…that…is wonderful.”

“You didn’t know that?”

“_How _would I know that?”

“Good point.”

“Let’s…avoid that then…and…stop these red lyrium idiots.”

“That was inspirational, Snow.”

“Shut up.”

Varric smirks. “Let’s get to work.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bianca adds.

“Oh, and don’t worry about her, Snow. She’s a decent shot.”

“Decent?” Bianca repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Varric scoffs. “What, you want me to admit you’re a better shot than me? In front of the _Inquisitor_? That’s just cruel.”

Bianca rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s go. This probably won’t go smoothly.”

“That should be our company motto,” Varric mutters.

I follow Bianca’s lead, admiring the cavern as we go. We mount the stairs to a long, wide stone bridge. The statues above us hold the ceiling up, twin dwarves with intricate details, highlighting every item on their belts to the point where I wonder if they represent two important real figures in dwarven history.

“This is _incredible_!” I murmur.

“First time in the Deep Roads?” Varric guesses.

“This isn’t technically the Deep Roads,” Bianca corrects.

Varric sighs heavily. “First time in the path leading to the Deep Roads?” he asks me in the same tone of voice.

I laugh. “I’ve never seen dwarven architecture,” I reply. “This is…I mean, I’ve _heard _of it…but…this is…_amazing_!”

I look over at Solas to share it with him, but I find him admiring me instead, his eyes a little sad though his smile is warm. I grin and look back up, marveling at the statues as we pass them.

“Watch it!” Blackwall suddenly shouts. He slams into my back, catching me with an arm around my waist as he throws his shield up in front of me. His gauntleted fingers dig rather painfully into my stomach. Arrows slam into his shield, and he glances at me with a familiar smile. “How ‘bout we ogle later, yeah?”

“Yep, good point, angry Corypheus men, got it, thank you,” I reply, gripping my staff. I nod at him and he releases me. I jerk my hand up, erecting a massive ice wall between us and the ones currently trying to kill us. “Get into cover!”

Everyone splits, moving to one side of the bridge or the other. I hear all manner of things crash against the ice trying to break it.

“Really?” I call.

“Do it, Snow,” Varric replies. 

I shatter the wall, the crash of ice clattering to the bridge deafening me. Varric and Bianca fire quickly—him with his crossbow, her with her longbow. Blackwall pulls up his shield and launches himself towards a dwarven bowman who calls over to Varric angrily, adding a few choice words.

“Friends of yours?” I shout over the fighting, electrocuting three of the archers.

“Oh, yeah, we go _way _back!” Varric calls. “You must know all city elves, too!”

I huff impatiently. “I _meant _because they just shouted your name!”

“Oh…they did? Uh, right…sorry, Snow. If, uh, if they know me, they’re at an advantage.”

“It’s the Carta,” Bianca shouts. “Just kill them all. They’re trying to stop us.”

“Come on, pull up on them!” Blackwall orders. “I’ve given you some room!”

Sera catapults past us, flying into the air. I watch as she releases three arrows and then falls, rolling to catch herself.

“That was really cool, Sera,” I holler.

She giggles madly, dashing forward.

I grip my staff and follow her, pulling up a shield as Solas joins me. I smile as our magics blend together, creating a flawless balance that hums against my skin. I’ve never cast so well with another mage; warmth spreads thickly through me at another thing Solas and I can share.

“Well, this is fun already,” Blackwall huffs, sheathing his sword when the fight is over.

“Speak for yourself,” Sera grumbles. “Got blood all over me breeches.” She suddenly giggles, looking at me. “Hey, still got those breeches I gave you?”

I roll my eyes, smirking. “I think they—”

Something tackles me around the middle, and I cry out in a frustrated surprise. _Every time!_

I twist to get the dwarf off me, but then my head slams against the ground, and my vision blurs. My arms and legs fall limply to the floor. I don’t even know what the dwarf tries to do, because before I know it, Blackwall is heaving him off me and throwing him over the bridge.

“Suledin!” Solas exclaims urgently, kneeling over me.

I blink slowly, trying to clear my vision.

“Vhenan, can you hear me?”

Blackwall grips my arm. “Inquisitor! Are you alright?”

“Snow?”

“Is she okay?” Sera asks worriedly, leaning over me.

I lift a hand to my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “Why—do they _always_—have to tackle me—from behind?”

“Vhenan, are you alright?” Solas asks, his voice alarmingly anxious. How hard _did _I hit my head? 

I reach for his arm, gripping it weakly as I sit up. He helps me, his other hand on my back. “Shit,” I complain. “Was that guy—invisible?”

“He was cloaked,” Varric replies. “Are you okay? You—really hit your head hard.”

“I’m supposed to have four hands, right?” I reply.

“It’s not funny,” Blackwall huffs.

“This was not the first time Suledin was tackled, and I feared it wouldn't be the last!” I narrate, joking, though my head _is _killing me.

“She’s fine,” Varric sighs, standing up.

“Is she?” Bianca wonders dubiously.

“She’s always like that.”

Solas lifts his hands to my head when I wince. He murmurs quietly, and the headache pulls back until it dissipates. His fingers feel around my head, lacing through my hair, and I flinch when he finds a knot. He murmurs again softly, and I sigh in relief when that pain disappears, too.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Wish I had magic,” Blackwall grumbles. “No more hangovers.”

I snort, holding onto Solas as he pulls me gently to my feet.

“Vhenan?” he murmurs, lifting my chin to look at me. He bends a little, searching my eyes worriedly.

“I’m okay,” I reply. “Onwards and upwards, my fine friends.”

“You _sure _you’re alright?” Bianca wonders.

“Yep,” Varric answers. “Always like that. That's practically her catchphrase.” He turns to wink at me, and I smirk at him.

“Seriously, though,” I muse, “if another person tackles me, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

Sera guffaws, jogging up the steps. “Glad to see you’re alright. You still all elfy, though?”

“Ma ghilana,” I sigh.

“Well, guess you don’t have amnesia.”

I roll my eyes, sighing pointedly as I walk forward. Solas walks beside me, his hand on my back protectively.

“So, this is what you do now?” Bianca muses as we go.

“Beg your pardon?” Varric replies.

“Skulking around caves, shooting guys. Is this your day-to-day?”

“There are usually less caves.”

I glance down to the stone path far below us and hesitate. “Wait, is that—are those darkspawn?” I ask, seeing the creatures fight against Carta men.

“Yes,” Blackwall replies grimly.

“Ew, not natural,” Sera complains. “Do we _have _to fight them?”

“That’s our path,” Bianca nods.

“For the love’a—you sure know how to find the best places, you,” Sera mumbles.

“Yes. This is _exactly _what I was hoping we’d find. I wanted to come down here expressly to make you fight darkspawn, Sera. You got me.”

“Maybe you did. Maybe it’s some elfy thing.”

“_How _could that be an _elfy _thing, Sera? Honestly—in _what world _is that—”

“Alright,” Blackwall huffs, waving his arm dismissively. “Knock it off you two. Uh—I mean—my lady Inquisitor…”

I snort at him, sighing as I start walking again. I take the stairs quickly, winding down to the lower path. Blackwall moves ahead of me, his sword and shield at the ready.

It doesn’t take too long to deal with the darkspawn—heinous and horrible as they are. Varric warns us to be careful with the blood, and no one is brave enough to as him why. As alarming as our opponents are, it still feels ridiculously good to be able to fight normally. I try to be careful with my magic, wary of bringing the whole place down on us.

When we’re finished, we head down to the lower terrace. The stone shifts into scaffolding, and then we come to a long, rickety wooden bridge. When we reach it, I stop and screw my face up dubiously.

“It’s alright, Snow,” Varric assures me, boldly walking across it. “Dwarves are good with bridges.”

I glance down, dizzy when I see the gaping hole disappear into a blackness so dark that I can’t even make out the bottom. I step back, bracing myself on a stone wall when nausea sweeps through me. “You know,” I muse as my heart hammers, “I think this is a good place to call it quits. We came, we saw, we fought. These are the tales we can all tell our grandchildren one day.”

Varric chuckles, turning back halfway across the bridge to look at me. “Really, Snow. Would I do this if I didn’t think it was safe?” He grabs the rope railing and shifts his weight wildly, jumping in place.

“_Stop_!” I shriek, holding out a hand. “That’s an—an Inquisition order!”

Varric rolls his eyes. The others follow him over without issue, each of them walking brazenly across the wooden bridge like it's made of stone. Even Sera doesn't care about the wild way it swings. Instead, she giggles, swaying it more widely until she reaches the other side.

“It’s alright, vhenan,” Solas says, his voice adding a small measure of comfort as he takes my hand.

I sigh heavily, slapping my other hand over my eyes. “If we fall to our deaths, I’m haunting every single person here…not you, Solas…”

He offers a quiet chuckle, and I let him pull me along gently. I sigh when we reach the bridge, and I force my eyes open to make sure I don’t trip between the gaps like a jackass.

“So,” Varric muses, crossing his arms as he watches us from the other side, “demons, the Fade, Grey Wardens, Corypheus, the Fear Nightmare, rifts—”

“Varric, I swear to _Mythal_, if you finish that fucking thought, I will kill you,” I warn.

He laughs. “_All _that, and—_heights_? _Really_?”

“You know what, Varric.”

“What?”

“I—shut up.”

“Rendered speechless. This is incredible! You stand on the battlements everyday! Your _balcony _it the tallest part of Skyhold, and I see you up there all the time.”

“I don’t _stare down_ and craft little wooden bridges to cross between _mountains_. Stone, Varric, where is the _stone_?”

“It’s back there. And over there. And down there.”

“I will _kill _you.”

I glance down—big, big mistake.

“No,” I whimper, stopping. “No, no, no, this is unnaturally high, this is—”

“Vhenan,” Solas murmurs, tightening his fingers. “Look at me.”

I glance up at him, blinking. I take a hesitant step, gripping his hand with both of mine for dear life while my palms sweat. “Varric, I’m going to kill you.”

“If you kill me, who’s gonna write the book about your life?” he asks.

“The book about my life that ends with me falling down a crevasse in the Deep Roads?”

Varric laughs loudly. “Well, I’ll write you a better ending than that.”

A weak chuckle slips through my teeth as we reach the other side of the scaffolding.

“There, see, you survived. You’re _welcome_,” Varric smirks.

I scoff.

“What, don’t laugh. I _distracted_ you.”

I make a conceding face, squeezing Solas’ hand gratefully. “Thank you.”

He smiles at me softly, his thumb running over the back of my hand before he releases my fingers.

I walk close beside him as we continue forward.

“You had me worried, you know,” Bianca says, her tone irritated.

“What did I do now?” Varric sighs.

“The letter you sent me about the red lyrium was the first I’d heard from you since the Chantry explosion!”

“Had it been that long?” Varric replies apologetically.

“Seriously, if you’d died in that mess, I’d’ve come back to Kirkwall and dug you up just to kick your ass.”

“What would you do if I’d been cremated?”

Bianca chuckles. “Kick your ashes, of course.”

Varric laughs, and I smirk.

“There!” Bianca suddenly calls, moving ahead of me. She jogs forward a few feet and then stops before a solid wall. “I built these doors.”

“What doors?” I wonder, glancing at the smooth stone.

“They shut this one from the other side when they heard the ruckus we were making,” Bianca muses. “Just a second…”

She leans over, pressing against a stone panel. She slides it aside, revealing a square hole that she boldly reaches her hand into. I hear gears moving and shifting as she works quickly. Suddenly, the wall shifts, and a door slides open.

“Bianca. That—was—amazing,” I say.

She snorts in response.

“Admit it, you were just waiting to do that.”

Varric chuckles. “You bet your Inquisitor ass she was.”

Bianca rolls her eyes hard and thrusts her arm out. “After you.”

I step through the door and enter an elegantly, intricately carved stone room. Everything is stone—walls, tables, bookcases, ceiling, floor. Nice, sturdy, solid stone.

An arrow whizzes to me, and I thrust up my hand, raising a quick barrier to stop it. Before it clatters to the ground, I whip my staff around, pulling up a wall of fire that rises high and pushes through the room. The few enemies in the room fall in charred husks to the ground, and I realize after a second that I _may_ have overreacted. Just a tad. 

“Huh,” Bianca muses. “Magic _is _useful.”

“I didn’t know there were only three,” I admit, clearing my throat. “Heh…may have…overdone it.”

“No,” Varric shakes his head, his tone sarcastic. “It was a close one.”

“Shut up.”

Varric smirks and then looks at Bianca as we continue. “So, how’s whatshisname?”

“Bogdan?” she answers. I glance at Varric. “He’s in Nevarra right now, selling my machine to wealthy landowners.”

“I heard some of the Guild were trying to get you named a Paragon for that contraption.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Bianca replies. “Even if I _am _ten times the smith Branka was. A surfacer Paragon? Never.”

“Sera,” Solas calls suddenly. “Watch your step.”

I look up to see Sera dance to her left. “Ugh! Wha’ is this shite?”

“Red lyrium,” Varric answers unhappily. “Get away from it.”

“Shite balls,” Sera complains, moving closer to the rest of us.

“Should be just through this room,” Bianca adds before ducking down at the door.

I move behind her, sighing when I see the room filled with Carta men, of course.

“Is that an Avvar?” Blackwall sighs.

“Uh huh,” Varric mumbles equally unhappy.

“They’re part of the Carta?”

“Working for them, anyway.”

“Wonderful.”

“Got another fire wall in you?” Bianca wonders.

I snort. “Do I have another fire wall,” I laugh quietly.

“If you’re low on mana, there’s lyrium everywhere.”

“Bianca,” Varric groans.

“What, I’m kidding! She’s not gonna use the red stuff. She’s not an idiot.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not funny.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, sheesh.”

“Let me do the honors,” I murmur, summoning my will.

I step through the room and jerk up a firewall, feeling it pull substantially from my mana. I breathe life into it, growing it higher as the Carta men in the room shout angrily. I push it forward, feeling Solas’ magic combine with mine to urge the flames thicker and wider. I smile, moving it more quickly. Several people fall to the ground, but several more, including the Avvar, use their shields to block the flames as they charge towards us. As soon as the flames go out, Varric and Bianca head right. Sera and Blackwall move left, and Solas and I stay in the center.

Blackwall lunges forward, heading to the Avvar first. I throw a paralysis glyph on the ground when two dwarven warriors charge at me and Solas. Blackwall battles with the Avvar, having a bit of trouble getting the upper hand. I swing my staff around, slamming it hard on the ground. Lightning comes out of nowhere, crashing into the Avvar and several of the bowmen. I keep my energy focused, careful to preserve plenty. I freeze the Avvar’s foot to the ground, and Blackwall runs his sword through the larger man’s chest. He glances back at me with a nod before moving onto the others.

I throw up a shield in front of him when arrows fly across the room in his direction. He raises his shield instinctively, lowering it when he sees I have him covered. He runs forward, and I push the shield out, breathing energy into it concentratedly. At the last moment, I force it out from him powerfully, knocking the Carta members down. The others make short of them, and I nod, wiping my forehead. I glance at Solas, surprised to find him watching me. He smiles warmly.

“What?” I hum quietly, seeing the others occupied.

“The grace with which you cast is…” His eyes fall to my lips, and I feel a quiet thrill rush through me. “A pleasure to witness,” he finishes slowly.

I feel my cheeks warm, and every part of me wants to touch him, but I keep my fingers to myself. I smile at him playfully instead, trying to think of something witty to say.

“You two comin’?” Varric calls, and honestly it saves me.

I smile at Solas and move ahead of him. Some weird part of me insists that I swing my hips a little as I go, and I smirk at the wall as I walk, feeling his eyes on me.

“You know,” Bianca laughs breathlessly, collecting her arrows swiftly, “this is almost fun! Kind of like old times.”

Varric snorts. “I don’t recall us every shooting people together.”

“Remember crashing Bartrand’s Guild dinner? We might as well have shot him.”

“This isn’t _nearly _as dangerous as pissing off my brother.”

“Fair point,” Bianca shrugs.

Solas catches up to me, his eyes dark when he smiles at me. A whiplash of heat jolts through me, and I return his look as evenly as I can, smirking a little. His eyes fall to my lips and lower as the heat spreads thickly, and then he flicks them back up to mine, his pupils wide. I lick my lips slowly, looking ahead again as I run my tongue over my teeth. Focus, Sul, focus.

“There!” Bianca exclaims, taking off again. I look ahead to see a ledger open against a desk. Against it rests a key that Bianca snatches up quickly. She whips around and thrusts the key into a wall—which is apparently a door—and turns the key several times, sighing out in relief when she’s finished. “There. They won’t be able to use this entrance anymore.”

Varric stares at her. “Bianca—” He shakes his head. “Andraste’s ass! _You’re _the leak?”

Bianca turns around, sighing quietly before she meets his eyes. “When I got the location, I went and had a look for myself…and I found the red lyrium! And…I…studied it,” she adds, clearing her throat as she looks away.

“You _know _what it does to people!” Varric exclaims incredulously.

“I was going you a favor!” she fights back. “After what it did to your brother—I just…wanted to figure it out.”

“_Did _you?” I wonder quietly.

“Actually…yes. Varric, listen—I found out that red lyrium…It has the _blight_, Varric! Do you know what that _means_?”

“What?” he demands angrily. “That two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?”

“Lyrium is _alive_! Or…something like it! Blight doesn’t infect minerals—only _animals_. I couldn’t get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right? And I fought this guy, Larius. He seemed really interested in helping my research…so…I gave him a key…”

“Larius?” Varric repeats. “He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus’…oh shit…” Varric closes his eyes, rubbing them with one hand. “I knew something seemed off,” he sighs.

“I didn’t realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven. I came here and…well…then I went to you.”

“Who's Larius?” I ask Varric.

“He was at the Grey Warden prison where we found Corypheus—Hawke and me. And he definitely wasn’t a _mage _before.”

“Well…shit,” I murmur. “That…is awful, but, Bianca, it isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Maferath’s balls she couldn’t!” Varric exclaims. “I told her _exactly _how bad this shit was! I told her to keep away from it!”

“I _know _I screwed up, Varric,” Bianca says, stepping to him imploringly, “but we did fix it! It’s as right as I can make it!”

Varric backs up once. “This isn’t one of your _machines_! You can’t just replace a part and make everything right!”

“No, but I can _try_, can’t I?” she demands. “Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself, telling _stories _of what I should have done?”

“Ha! As if I would tell stories about my own mistakes!”

“She did at least try to set things right, Varric,” I murmur. 

He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “We’ve done all we can. Bianca, you’d better get home before someone misses you.”

“Varric,” she breathes, stepping closer to him again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric mumbles, turning around. “I’ll see you at camp, Snow.”

I turn to watch him go. Bianca waits until he’s far enough away, and then she looks up at me sternly. “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

I chuckle.

“Think that’s funny?”

“What—n-no, ma’am. Keep Varric safe. Check. Got it. Message received.”

“Good. By the way,” she adds, glancing back at me as she goes. “Nice meeting you.”

With that, she departs, mounting the stairs. I watch her go, and then I heave a great sigh. “We have to cross that wooden bridge again, don’t we?”

***

As we go through the tight cave again, nearly to the exit to the Hinterlands, I find myself more relieved that I would have thought to be out of the Deep Roads—or…the not-Deep Roads. Whatever they are.

All along the way, when I perhaps _should_ be thinking about Varric, I can’t get rid of the heat crawling under my skin. It intensifies the closer we get to the door until I can’t stand it. Solas’ eyes are dark and enticing when I look at him, his smirk dark and alluring. I think he’s doing it on purpose to torture me, and gods is it working. When I light a flame in my palm to see the path through the small cave, the fire roars dramatically from my fingers, fueled by the heat in my stomach.

“Andraste’s tits,” Blackwall breathes, jerking back.

“Whoops—sorry,” I say as casually as I can, my heart hammering in my chest. Solas looks ahead, his smirk so cocky that I make a split decision as we reach the door. “Blackwall, you and Sera go on ahead,” I say seriously, my tone deliberately grave. “I need to speak with Solas.”

“Is something wrong?” Blackwall asks.

“No, it’s alright.” Solas turns to watch me, his eyes unfairly enticing—to the point where I almost falter. “I’ll meet you two back at camp, alright?”

Blackwall looks concerned, not suspecting in the least why I’ve asked them to leave. Thankfully. “Alright, Inquisitor. Travel safely.”

“You, too,” I muse quietly.

Sera glances at me and then shrugs, walking out the door. Blackwall closes it behind himself, and then Solas is on me. He pulls me to his lips, kissing me so fervently that I _know _he was waiting for a chance. I groan quietly at the realization. He smiles against my lips, his hands in my hair and then traveling down my body so quickly that I shiver even as heat floods me. I gasp as he moves his hands down my thighs and picks me up, pressing me to the wall. I drop my staff, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he slides his tongue against mine. I give a pitiful sound in response, gasping at his unexpected urgency. His fingers press into my thighs, clawing softly at my leggings as he kisses me. I shift my hips, rolling against his stomach, my cheeks flaming. The heat spreads thickly down my chest, staggering me.

Solas moves his head back enough to switch angles. I whisper his name quickly, earning a more ardent kiss when he returns, the taste of him overwhelming me again. I release another sound, this one rather careless, and I hope the others are far enough away. Solas smiles against the kiss, and I groan again. He winds an arm around my waist, pressing his fingers into the small of my back as he brings me closer. I roll against his stomach again pointedly, my fingers grasping at his clothes. I grip his arms, squeezing a little too hard in a silent plea. He gives in, lowering me slightly, and I give a wildly uncontrolled sound when I feel him press against me. He pants quietly against my mouth, a whispered groan that sets my skin on fire. The torches in the hall burst into higher flames, flashing across my eyelids before they dim again.

He smiles against me again as he grips my leg. I roll my hips against his eagerly, my breath catching at the ridiculous spontaneity of this entire situation. I try to think clearly enough to even remember what I’m wearing, but I can’t process a thought. I groan his name when he pulls back, and then he devours me again, swallowing the sound I make in response. I raise my hands to his cheeks, rolling against him more fervently. He pants quietly against my lips, tightening his fingers against me. I reach down carelessly, searching for the lacings on my leggings, undoing them swiftly. Solas feels what I’m doing and gives another delicious grin, confident even as his fingers tighten even more.

He reaches for his own clothes, undoing just enough to make this work. I groan against him in anticipation, feeling impatient as I wait. He sets me down a moment, his lips not leaving mine as I pull my leggings off ungracefully. They still hang off one of my feet when he picks me back up again, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs. I reach between us, a thicker coil of heat flaring in my stomach that demands release. Solas gives a quiet sound when I find him, and the torches in the hall flare again at my reaction. I pull him to me and then move my hands, gripping his shoulders. He slips one of his arms under my knee, bracing his hand against the wall to steady himself. The position has the added benefit of widening my legs. I groan wildly at that, apparently not caring anymore if someone hears or catches us.

He pushes into me slowly, and I repeat the sound, shaking as I wait. He groans against my lips when his hips meet mine, and I whimper a sound in response, my nails digging into his skin. He moves his hand from my thigh to my back, sliding under my shirt to press against my skin as he begins to move. Heat flickers and whips through me uncontrolled, and the idea that he wanted to do this at all, that neither of us could even wait until tonight, makes me nearly tumble off the edge. I barely hold on, rolling my hips eagerly to meet his as he moves.

He picks a pace that renders us both breathless, but he doesn’t leave my lips. My breaths burst out of me in sloppy pants and grunts and groans, but I cling to his cheeks, keeping his lips against mine. His tongue explores me, and I feel my stomach quiver in urgency. He moves his hand on the wall, sliding it up a few inches to pull my leg higher. I give a ridiculous sound at the depth that affords him, and he returns it more softly, his other fingers digging into my back. I thrust my hips forward, meeting his every movement, and I lower one of my hands to his chest, feeling his heart hammer even through all his clothes.

I feel myself edging dangerously close to that peak again, his every movement, breath, and touch threatening to make me tumble over it. After a particularly revealing sound of mine, Solas’ hand disappears from my back as he groans. When it reappears, it's sliding between our bodies and his fingers are pressing a delicate, delicious circle against my swollen skin. He swallows the sound I make in response, offering his own in return. I jerk against his fingers, kissing him so fervently that my lips begin to feel numb. I latch my free leg around his waist, pulling him to me more desperately as I get close enough to feel my skin tingling. He smiles against my lips, and that simple gesture sets me free.

I release a strangled sound as my vision whites out. I hear the torches flare wildly down the cave hall as the feeling rushes through me staggeringly. I clamp down around him, shaking from the force of the waves as they crash into and through me. Solas gives a breathy sound, his lips catching all the noises I make as I writhe against him. He manages a few more thrusts before he joins me, groaning and panting against my lips. I return the sound pathetically, jerking my hips in a circle to prolong the feeling as he stills. His fingers work against that bundle of nerves, keeping me deaf and blind for several long moments. He moves again slowly, working us both through the feeling as he releases another sound that weakens me. He waits a moment before stilling, and then he pulls his lips from mine, his fingers tight as he presses his forehead to mine. I pant wildly, feeling his breaths fall across me in warm bursts.

I give another soft whine, and he moves his fingers away from me, clutching my thigh. He kisses me again, his lips slower but no less ardent. His tongue slides against mine, and I groan around it, shifting my hips a little. When neither of us can breathe anymore, Solas moves his mouth from mine, raising his hand reverentially to my cheek as he presses his forehead to mine again. I smile as I pant, feeling weightless.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he chuckles when he sees my unstoppable smile.

“Never—apologize—for that,” I pant, grinning even wider. 

He smiles softly. “Ar lath ma, Suledin.”

I repeat the sentiment breathlessly, moving my hands to his cheeks again. I bring him to my lips, kissing him more delicately. My heart thuds in my ears, and I smile against his lips, grinning as I struggle to catch my breath.

***

That night, I find Varric leaning against a tree outside of camp, staring out over the valley below. The others are gathered around the campfire, so I head over to him.

He glances up at me when I arrive, sighing. “I’m glad to have answers, but…_shit_. The second she showed up here, I knew. I just…” He shakes his head. “I let this mess happen. I gave her the thaig. I am not good at dealing with shit like this.”

I give a thoughtful hum. “Hate to be the one to break this to you, but I don’t think anyone is good at it.”

He sighs again. “No, no…the point is…I don’t! I don’t _deal _with things. If Cassandra hadn’t dragged me here, I’d be in Kirkwall right now pretending none of this was happening.”

I make a face at him. “You’ve said a lot of things to me Varric, but that’s the first idiotic one. You _know _that’s not true. You’ve worked as hard as any of us to stop Corypheus.”

“_Is _that true? I don’t even know anymore.” He gives another sigh. “Thank you, Snow,” he murmurs, glancing up at me. “For your help back there.”

I nod at him. “Do you think you’ll see Bianca again?”

“I always do,” he murmurs, his voice a little sad.

“Bogdan, huh?”

“Just…one of those things.”

“Stupid name,” I shrug.

Varric snorts, looking down.

“_Bogdan_,” I say again in a deliberately stupid voice, hoping to cheer him up. Varric laughs. “I mean seriously…_Bogdan_.”

He laughs again quietly, looking at the ground once more as it fades away. “Her parents picked him out for her. A nice Smith Caste boy. Wealthy, respected, has a great anvil collection. Perfect husband.” He looks up over the valley, blinking slowly. “I heard the wedding was lovely. The one Bianca actually showed up for, anyway.”

I can’t explain why that makes me so sad, but I feel it press on me. I wrap my arm around Varric’s shoulders, sighing quietly. “Wanna go drown our sorrows?”

Varric snorts. “Thought you'd never ask, Snow.”


	48. Promise of Destruction

“I’m so tired,” I complain. Cassandra turns to make a face at me, and I stand up straight again. “I mean, Inquisition road trip! Let’s go!” I do a stupid dance that earns a laugh from Varric and an affectionate smirk from Solas. I keep doing it as Cassandra fights a reaction, and she turns around quickly just as I catch the flicker of a smile. “Ha! Made the Seeker laugh.”

“I did not laugh.”

“Did anyone see her not laugh?”

“I cannot confirm that I didn’t see her laugh,” Varric replies.

“There we have it. I made Cassandra Allegra Portia Calo—”

“I will hit you, Inquisitor,” she threatens.

I cackle loudly. “Made her laugh _and _threaten me within the same minute. This is the most productive day of my life.” 

“We are almost there,” Cassandra says, pointing up the steep hill to the massive stone gates.

“In other words, 'pipe down, Inquisitor'” I muse. “I get it, I get it. Message received.”

“Caer Oswin,” Varric sighs. “We’ve made quite a journey to meet these Seekers. I hope they’re all as friendly as _our_ Seeker.”

I chuckle and stop immediately when Cassandra turns around.

“We are being led by a child,” she murmurs to herself. “Maker forgive me.”

I glance at Varric, and we cut up again.

“It is odd that the trail should lead us here,” she adds more thoughtfully.

I move up beside her, growing serious. “Why’s that?” I wonder.

“Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. This is his castle…What has he become involved in?”

“Seems like crazy’s just going around this year,” I sigh.

“Let us see what lies within.”

Cassandra gestures to a door on the bottom floor of the castle, and we head over to it. As soon as we set foot inside, we find ourselves face-to-face—quite literally—with several armed guards. They shout to each other, and I hurry to shield Cassandra as she charges forward. As soon as she reaches the first man, I drop the shield, and she lunges her sword into his stomach around his armor. I trap one of the men in ice as Varric moves ahead of me. It’s difficult to fight or aim in such close quarters without hitting Cassandra, and both of us hesitate. Solas focuses on defensive magic, protecting Cass while Varric and I try to get in quick hits when we can.

When Cass realizes the cause for our hesitancy, she holds up her shield and charges at the men, knocking them down and back into a wider room.

“Alright, nobody make the Seeker mad,” Varric calls.

I follow them through to the larger room—a prison. Lovely.

Cassandra runs her sword through one of the men, and I freeze another in place, throwing out a paralysis glyph to the ground near Cassandra as a man charges at her. The man seizes, and she finishes him off swiftly. Solas manipulates the fade, drawing a large, greenish rock at the tip of his staff. He forms it quickly and then launches it across the room at a man whose bow is leveled at Varric.

“Thanks, Chuckles,” he calls quickly.

I smirk affectionately at the nickname. Cassandra cuts down the last man, flicking her sword out to rid it of most of the blood before she sheathes it.

“Promisers,” she seethes breathlessly. “I should have known.”

“Promisers?” I repeat.

“The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with…strange beliefs about Seekers. They’ve hounded us for centuries.”

“Oh good,” I sigh. “We’ve been missing cultists.”

“Well, Venatori’s a cult,” Varric shrugs.

“Oh yeah…great…two cults…”

“Yeah…”

“They’re fanatics,” Cassandra spits, glaring at the wall, “_drunk _on whatever forbidden magic they can find to make themselves ‘true’ Seekers.”

Varric shrugs again. “Well, you know what they say. Imitation is the sincerest—”

“No,” Cassandra sighs. “This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus. Wait—what is—” Cassandra jogs forward, bending over a dark bundle on the floor near one of the jail cells. I catch up to her, hesitating when I see it’s a body. “A Seeker,” she says quietly. “Did they…_torture_ him to death?” She stands angrily, glaring ahead. “The Promisers will pay for this.”

She storms out into the courtyard, and I jog to keep up with the brisk pace she sets. She pulls her sword out again with a shrill ring of steel, walking swiftly down a flight of stairs. More Promisers line the courtyard, and Cassandra gives an angry grunt as she stabs one through the stomach when he turns to face her.

The ensuing battle doesn’t last long, what with Cassandra rushing from one enemy to another with even more determination than ever. I barely have time to keep up with her movements, and by the time she’s finished, I’m exhausted.

Cassandra bends over one of the bodies, searching his pockets and pouches. When she finds nothing, she moves on to another body and then another until she finally pulls a roll of paper. She scans part of it and then shakes her head, reading it aloud with a scathing tone. “‘As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment.’ Signed by Lord Samson, commander of the red templars.” Cassandra stands and paces a foot away before turning back, outraged. “Does Corypheus not realize the Promisers want the world to end? What _use _are they to him?” she demands.

“I doubt he plans on holding up his end of the bargain,” I mutter. “So, he sold the Seekers to these Promisers?”

“And they leapt at the chance, of course. But this doesn’t explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place! Or what’s been done with them. We must keep looking.”

“You’re worried,” I note quietly.

“I am,” she admits. “The Seekers are my family.”

I reach for her arm, and she sighs.

“Let’s continue,” she murmurs, gesturing to a large set of stairs that wind to a pair of massive doors.

We climb them quickly, Cassandra leading—as always—as an indefatigable warrior. I, on the other hand, am quite out of breath by the time we reach the top.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” she asks, pressing a hand to the door.

“Yeah,” I rasp, leaning over to rest my hands to my knees. “Shit—tip-top shape. I’m good. Keep going.”

Varric gives me an amused smirk, patting my back, though he’s winded, too.

Cassandra pulls the door open and then immediately pushes me aside when a fire arrow flies through the crack in the door. The force of her swing knocks me on my ass—literally and rather ungracefully—and Varric pulls me back up.

Cassandra moves behind the door, sighing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.

“There’s too many of them.”

“Pish posh,” I say before looking back at her. “Wait…how many is _too _many to _Cassandra_?”

“More than we can handle,” Varric offers.

“Very helpful.”

Varric shrugs.

“So what do we do?”

“You…uh…” He glances up at me.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, never mind.”

“What, Varric?”

“You…did that thing with your hand a couple of times…the…Fade vortex thing—but it took a lot out of you, so—”

“The glove should be able to handle it,” Solas murmurs across from me, his eyes focused on mine.

I flex my hand, swallowing anxiously. “Could I break the glove? Should…should I take it off before I—”

“No,” Solas says quickly. “No, vhenan, you needn’t subject yourself to that pain. The glove is strong enough.”

“Are you certain?”

Solas looks at me. “Yes.” There is no lie or hesitation in his answer, and I trust him implicitly.

“Alright,” I nod. “Grab onto something—just in case.”

I close my eyes and step in front of the doors. Solas raises a barrier over me when a flurry of arrows flies at me. Cassandra was right—far too many for a traditional fight. I thrust my left hand out, closing my eyes again tightly. I feel the Anchor hum, and I find a gap in the Fade, focusing on it as I grip the edges tightly. I pull my hand down, tearing it open briefly. The room erupts in chaos. Cassandra grabs my arm, anchoring me when I slide forward a step. Men scream and tumble inside the main hall, armor screeching against the stone floor. They try to grab onto things—columns, stairs, braziers, each other—but they all fall into the vortex. When they’re gone, I grip the edges of the rift again, my hand flaring brilliantly, and pull it closed. I hesitate after it’s gone, panting, but there’s no pain. The lyrium thrums in the glove, shining in spikes of green, and I wait, terrified, for it to fail or stop or shatter—for the pain to return—but it doesn’t.

I sigh out, relieved, and grin at Solas. He reaches for my arm, his thumb caressing my skin once before he drops his hand.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra says quickly, moving past me into the room.

I follow the brutal pace she sets, jogging to keep up with her as we climb higher into the castle. We reach a platform around a tall flight of stairs, and Cassandra suddenly lurches forward, running down the hall. A bloody, beaten man breathes raggedly, slumped against another flight of stairs. His slick skin is deathly pale, and his haunted eyes are bloodshot, the mottled skin beneath them purple and blue.

“Daniel!” Cassandra gasps, falling beside him. “Daniel, can you hear me?”

“Cassandra?” he breathes, looking up at her with difficulty. His eyes are young—far too young. “It…_is _you…You’re alive!”

“As are you,” she replies, reaching for his gauntleted hand. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Daniel shakes his head slowly, trying to pull his hand back. “No, they…put a demon inside me. It’s…tearing me up.”

“What?” Cassandra gasps, recoiling in surprise. “You—can’t be possessed! That’s impossible!”

“I’m not—possessed,” the man wheezes, moving his hand to his armored stomach. “They…fed me things…I can feel it…_growing_.”

I raise a hand to my mouth in horror. “Mythal—”

“The Promisers will pay for this, I swear it,” Cassandra seethes, her eyes hard.

“No,” Daniel says, shaking his head again. “The Lord Seeker.”

“Of course we’ll find him,” she assures the man. “If he lives, we’ll—”

“Lucius betrayed us, Cassandra,” Daniel replies hoarsely.

Cass goes rigid, staring at him.

“He sent us here, one by one. ‘An important mission,’ he said. Lies. He was here with them all along. He’s still working with them.”

“He’s a dead man,” I mutter.

“Yes,” Cassandra says through her teeth, her voice scary. “He is.”

“Wait,” Daniel cries. “Don’t—don’t leave me like this—please—”

Cassandra looks up at me, and I read her intent in her eyes. I glance away, bowing my head as I step back to Varric and Solas.

“You should have come with me,” Cassandra murmurs unevenly. “You didn’t believe in the war any more than I did.”

Daniel chuckles and coughs. “What, and give up my promotion?”

Cassandra’s eyes flood, and I look away as she pulls her dagger from her belt. “Go to the Maker’s side, Daniel. You will be welcome.”

“Thank…you.”

I stare at the stone wall. There's a ring of metal and a soft, thick gasp, and then silence fills the hall.

“He was my apprentice,” Cassandra murmurs after a long moment. “I have never known a finer young man.”

“I’m so sorry, Cass,” I say quietly.

She glares up at the stairs. “Now, we find Lord Seeker Lucius,” she replies, her voice hard and terrifying.

I follow her up the stairs quickly, gripping the dagger on my belt when it swings wildly. She leads us briskly outside. When we encounter two more Promisers, I don’t even have time to shield her before they’re dead. She marches up another flight of stairs, taking the hilly landscape in the courtyard in stride while I struggle. She reaches another door leading to an inner garden, and she kicks it open, walking forward a few feet before stopping. I come quickly to her side, panting.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” she seethes between gritted teeth.

The man looks up, his hands folded behind his back. Red templars flank him, their eyes vacant and hollow as they stare at us, almost without seeing. The Lord Seeker smiles.

“Cassandra,” he muses, “with a savage elf I can only assume is the new Inquisitor.”

I clench my jaw. “You must be very proud of your handiwork,” I mutter.

“I presume you know we Seekers of Truth were once the original Inquisition.” I did not, but I try not to look too surprised. I must fail, because he smiles again. “Oh yes. We fought to restore order in a time of madness long ago, as you do now. And we became proud. We sought to remake the world—to make it better. But what did we create? The Chantry—Circles of Magi—a war that will see no end.”

I force a laugh. Even Cassandra looks surprised. “Sorry,” I mutter, “was that—were you being _serious_? Is that supposed to be your excuse? It…could use some work.”

“You think your Inquisition is better,” Lucius muses. “Understandable.”

“You did all this because you _hate _our Order so much?” Cassandra demands.

“We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra.”

“Sure,” I mumble, “because _resigning _just wouldn’t have had the same oomph.”

“We created a decaying world,” Lucius continues, “and we fought to preserve it even as it crumbled. We had to be stopped.”

“I’m about ready to kill him. Cass, what about you? You about ready to kill him?”

“You don’t believe me?” Lucius asks. “See for yourself.” He pulls his hands out from behind his back, revealing a large thick book. He tosses it across the path to us. It lands solidly and slides a few inches to Cassandra’s feet. “The secrets of our Order, passed to me after the former Lord Seeker was slain. The war with the mages had already begun, but it was not too late for me to do the right thing.”

“Lord Seeker,” Cassandra breathes, shaking her head. Her eyes flick up from the tome to the man before her. “What you’ve done…”

“I know,” he murmurs. His eyes give a strange gleam, almost vacant, but there's an unsettling eagerness in his expression, a steadfastness in his decision. “What Corypheus did with the templars does not matter. I have seen the future. I have created a new Order to replace the old! The world will end so it can start anew—a _pure _beginning! Join us, Cassandra! It is the Maker’s—”

A bolt flies into the man’s eye, blood splattering his men as he jerks his head back. I jerk my own head away, shielding my eyes with a wordless exclamation, but it’s far too late—the image is burned into my mind.

“Anyone got a problem with that?” Varric wonders idly.

“Only that I had to _see _it!” I complain. “Little heads up next time, maybe?”

Cassandra snarls and grabs her sword from her belt, launching herself at the red templars. I throw up a protection spell around her, and Varric unleashes three bolts in rapid succession. Cass’ blade runs through several templars, lopping off several more heads. I watch, a little disgusted with the brutality of it—not that I disagree with her methods, just that I have to see it. Blood splatters her armor and skin, rolling down her neck as she angrily slashes and hacks through the templars. I curl a fireball around the tip of my staff, launching it at a group of men as they lunge at Cassandra. She raises a hand to shield herself from the heat wave.

“Sorry!” I call, waving once before I continue.

By the time the red templars are down, Cassandra’s armor runs with their blood, and there is a hatred I have never seen in her, not even when she thought I destroyed the Conclave.

It takes me a second to realize that the difference is betrayal.

“He was insane,” Cassandra says, leaning over to pick up the book. “He had to be. The influence of Corypheus, perhaps? Was he trying to disable the Seekers?”

“That...must’ve been it,” Varric nods, though his tone is a little dubious.

“I…I need some time to think. I will meet you back at camp, Inquisitor.”

“Cass—”

“I’m alright, Inquisitor. I just…need to think.”

I nod, watching her go.

“She will be alright,” Solas murmurs beside me. “Her faith has been shaken, but she is strong.”

I nod again, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Guess we’ll…head back…It was a nice shot, Varric,” I add quietly.

“Thanks, Snow.”

***

Cassandra doesn’t return for so many hours that I find myself pacing with worry. My mind flits through countless increasingly-ridiculous scenarios until I'm half-tempted to go out and find her. When she finally does appear, she looks heavy, her shoulders low. Her armor has been cleaned and the blood removed from her skin, but her eyes are hollow, her movements slow. She sees me waiting, and she kneels in the grass where she stands. I walk over to her, sitting in front of her.

She sighs and rests the Lord Seeker’s book between us in the grass. “This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker since the time of the old Inquisition. And now it falls to me.”

“Are you alright?” I murmur quietly. “You look drained.”

“On the contrary, it’s a delight. I’m riveted.”

I blink at her flat tone and then laugh once. “Cassandra is _joking_? This is a terrible sign.”

She chuckles weakly, her eyes falling to the book as she sobers. “Do you know what the Rite of Tranquility is?”

“Of course,” I reply softly. “We’re terrified of it…mages, I mean.”

She nods slowly. “A last resort used on mages in the Circle…leaving them unable to cast but depriving them of dreams and all emotions. It should only be used on those who cannot control their abilities…but that has not always been the case.”

“No,” I whisper in agreement.

“I thought…since you grew up in a Dalish clan…you might not fear it like other mages.”

“The Chantry has the ability to strip from us the very thing that makes us alive,” I reply quietly. “Of course I fear it.”

She looks down. “I always thought it a necessary evil…What finally began the mage rebellion was a discovery that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up—harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery in addition to what happened in Kirkwall…but it appears we’ve…_always _known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.”

My lips part. “Why…Why would they keep it a secret?”

She looks down again, her eyes hidden from me, and she doesn’t answer for a long time. “We…created the Rite of Tranquility. I told you of my vigil, the months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made tranquil and didn’t even know. Then the vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke Tranquility…and gave me my abilities. The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me, not with the Chantry. Not even with…” She closes her eyes again, sighing. “There’s more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order.”

“What do you mean?” I ask softly when she doesn’t continue.

“I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours…Now I’m not certain it deserves to be rebuilt.”

“What did you find?”

She sighs. “At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favor of expedience and tell ourselves it was all necessary. For the people. Will that happen to us, Inquisitor? Will we repeat history?”

“No,” I assure her. “We’re nothing like the Seekers or the original Inquisition. We have a goal in mind, something to accomplish.”

“And when we finish it?”

“We disband,” I answer.

“Just like that?”

“Isn’t that what we were meant to do?”

“What if we defeat Corypheus and find the world still in chaos?”

“We’ll…clean up, of course. But we’ll never evolve into the kind of organization the Seekers became.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because of you and me, Cass. We won’t let that happen.”

“I wonder how much we resemble what the original Inquisition was, what the Seekers used to be.”

“Maybe we started the same, but we will not share their fate. The Inquisition will not fall into that darkness. You know why?”

She looks up at me.

“Because we know our history. We know how we began. Divine Justinia _chose _the Inquisition, did she not? She would not have dredged up a name like that if it was not with the hope that we would be different. She trusted you, Cassandra, as I do. And I know you will make the right decisions, and if I ever veer off course, I know you’ll pull back on track.”

“I do not believe you would veer,” she decides quietly.

I breathe out slowly, getting even more worried. “I’ve never seen you so shaken.”

“I do not think the Seekers have been doing the Maker’s work. Not truly. Perhaps we believed it once. The original Inquisition came to be during a terrible time. But now? We harbored secrets and let them fester. We acted to survive, but not to serve. That is not the Maker’s work.”

“Tell me what you would do differently.”

She searches the mountains across from us. “I can’t be the only one remaining. We were always spread to the winds, and some may still be out there. I would find them, one by one. We would all read this book—no more secrets. Then, together, we would establish a new charter—the Maker’s work in truth.”

“What does the Maker’s work mean to you?”

“There is no way to know for certain. That is why we must _seek _it out. Perhaps we lost our way because we stopped looking.”

I look at her for a long moment. “You should rebuild the Seekers, Cassandra.” She looks up at me. “Make them better than they were. Hearing you talk…you know what went wrong, and you have the power and the knowledge to do more. You…” I sigh. “I’ve never said this to you, but…you _inspire_ me—so much. We may not always agree, but you are a _warrior_, Cassandra. You _never _give up—not matter _what _you’re up against. Even this—this would have broken anyone else, but you are so much stronger. When I falter, when I fail, I always think of what you would do. I believe in _you_, Cassandra. This Inquisition…this _world_…would be…lost without you. Rebuild. Do what they should have done.”

Cassandra meets my eyes, her expression touched. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” she murmurs. “I could not have done this on my own.”

“Yes, you could have,” I smirk. “You are a rock. But I’m glad I could help.”

Cassandra sighs, picking the book up again. She stands and helps me to my feet. As she starts to head back into camp, she turns and looks at me. “In truth, Inquisitor…it is you who inspires me.”

I blink, my lips parting as she walks away. I weaken a little, smiling softly, and then I play with my fingers, following her more slowly back into camp.


	49. Poison that Weakens

Shortly after we reach one of the Inquisition camps in the Hinterlands, we receive word from Leliana that Morrigan has arrived at Skyhold. We’re all pretty tired from traveling, so we have an early dinner and head to bed—except for Varric, who I hear laughing and talking quietly with a few Inquisition agents far after Solas and I have retired to our tent. I collapse—almost literally—on top of Solas and fall asleep.

I wake up shortly before the sun rises, blinking slowly in the dark tent. I gradually realize how I was sleeping, and then I smile widely. Solas’ arm is wound around my waist, his fingers falling against my stomach. My back is to his chest, and I feel his quiet breaths against my shoulders as he sleeps. His legs fold into mine, and I glance back to see his other arm pillow his head elegantly, his expression peaceful. I smile again, closing my eyes.

For a long time, I simply lay there, listening to the soft, almost inaudible sounds of his gentle breathing. I try to fall back asleep, but after going to bed so early, I find myself wide awake. I hear his breath change gradually as he wakens. His fingers press more tightly against my stomach before sliding up to my waist and then away. He shifts slightly, and I hear him angle his head away to breathe in deeply, stifling a yawn. He returns to me, his hand falling on my waist before moving slowly across my stomach and up to my ribs. He settles it there, feeling my breaths as my chest moves. The simple gesture warms my chest and causes a small flutter of heat to flicker in my stomach. I smile softly when he kisses my shoulder, moving his head close to mine before he stills. I want to glance back at him to see how awake he is, but I also don’t want to wake him up if he’s going back to sleep. Tricky territory, to be sure.

His thumb begins to move in a gentle sweep, caressing my stomach through my shirt. I smile again widely, rolling into him a little to turn my head. I look back at him, and his expression is enchantingly sweet. My smile spreads once more, and he returns it softly. His eyes dance between mine as he blinks slowly, affection warming my chest again. He raises his hand up my ribs, brushing against my breast lightly as he moves it to my cheek, his thumb entering a gentle sweep there, too. My eyes fall to his lips, and he moves up on his elbow smoothly, leaning over me. I roll my shoulders a little further back, half-turning my body to see him more clearly. He gazes at me with an adoration I don’t feel worthy of, and it makes my skin flush. He registers the reaction with a sweet smile, his eyes falling to my lips. I part them, waiting patiently, and he flicks his eyes up to mine slowly in a way that makes a slow ball of heat form loosely in my stomach.

I give him a playful smile, as if daring him, and offers a more genuine one before leaning into me. I close my eyes, inclining my head towards him to meet his kiss. His lips are gentle against mine, but some part of me is feeling greedy. I reach up to his cheek, holding him to me as I kiss him more ardently. He smiles gently, and I almost want to shake my head because by now he _must _know what that does to me. I shift my hips, rolling over onto my back so I can reach him better, and he leans into me more, matching the pace I set with the kiss easily.

I part my lips, offering an invitation that he accepts, as always. I give a quiet gasp as his tongue slides against mine, and his thumb arcs affectionately over my cheek again. I grow lightheaded at the sound of his breaths. My heart begins to race in my chest, pulling my own breaths from me in quiet bursts. Solas moves his hand gently away from my cheek, resting it low on my waist as I try to curl into him. I turn my hips to face him, and he moves his hand down to the small of my back, his fingers pressing against my bare skin as my shirt rides up. Slowly, I move my leg up his thigh to his waist, and he smiles gently. He slides his hand down my body, running it up the underside of my thigh until he gets to my knee, and then he hitches my leg higher. I reach up with both hands for his cheeks, keeping him to me as insistently as I can as I move my lips against his more quickly.

I wrap an arm around his shoulders, pressing my fingers against his back. Frowning at his shirt in my way, I lower my hand to his waist and then circle back up under his clothes, digging my fingers lightly into his shoulder. He smiles again, the gesture, as always, lighting a familiar flame under my skin, and I realize at once how dangerous this is. I have a proclivity for burning things in his presence. He seems to register this at the same time, and he smirks against my lips before pulling back from them. He admires my eyes, and I want to groan at how wide his pupils are. His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I wonder if I look as urgent for him as I feel.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best place,” he muses softly.

“Undoubtedly,” I agree, slowly licking the taste of him from my lips.

He catches the movement, his eyes growing rather mischievous. “Do you think you’ll burn the tent down?” he wonders, smirking.

“Most likely,” I nod.

“Well…”

Whatever he was going to say, he changes his mind, kissing me again fervently. I give a quiet huff at that, tightening my fingers against him. He rolls over gently, and I resist a moan when he kneels over me, his leg brushing against my core. I feel him press against my thigh as he straddles my leg, and my fingers shake in my urgency. His tongue delves into my mouth again, stealing my breath, and I give another whispered sound. He smiles gently, and I tighten my fingers against him. I shift my hips against his thigh, searching for some sort of reprieve, and he works his knee closer to me to offer it. That lights the flames in me higher, and I give another soft sound. He moves his lips from mine, kissing down to my neck. I grip one of his arms, letting my other hand press against his ribs. I shiver in the cool air, trying to concentrate on that and not the heat gathering under my skin, threatening to catch something on fire eventually.

I roll against his leg again, shifting my hips, and he smiles once more at my impatience, his tongue pressing against the skin of my neck. I gasp, biting my lip to keep silent. A small whimper escapes, barely heard over the sound of my breath. Solas moves his hand down to my waist, gripping it tightly. I feel him heavy against my thigh, and I move my leg gently, hoping to spur him into action. His breath moves from him more quickly at the friction, but he simply smiles against my neck, his kiss searing. He works his way back up to my lips, his touch teasing as he runs his fingers across my stomach lightly, feeling me quiver.

I grip his shoulders, nudging my leg against his to get him to move. He eventually does, shifting between my legs. I smile at the victory, but it’s short-lived as he presses down against me, his hips meeting mine. I give a quiet groan that he swallows quickly. He pulls his lips back enough to switch angles, and I manage to whisper his name swiftly, earning a gentle roll of his hips against mine. I shift greedily, chasing him, and he smirks again. I feel him wind a hand between our bodies, and I nod against his lips, waiting impatiently. His fingers delve under my waistband, finding me quickly. I gasp at the way his fingers feel, and he gives a quiet groan when he feels my absurd reaction to him.

I reach between us, pulling at the laces of my leggings eagerly. I don’t even bother finishing before I start on his. He smiles again, his slickened fingers lifting to my hip as he lowers my leggings gently. I manage to kick them off with his help, and he pulls his off slowly as I move on to his shirt, desperate to be freed from these ridiculous clothes. He helps with mine, and then he presses his hand to my waist, his fingers hot against my skin. I arch, trying to find him. His kiss is searing, and I feel certain I will combust. I hitch my leg back over his waist, and his fingers trail down my leg reverentially.

I reach between us, finding him quickly. His fingers tighten when I do, his kiss growing more fervent as I bring him to me. I reach up to grip his arms, feeling his chest flush against mine. He winds his arm under my back, bracing himself against his elbow as his fingers dig into my back. I smile at that, throwing my other leg across his waist. He pushes into me slowly, and I gasp against his lips, holding my breath to resist making a sound. He pulls his lips away when his hips are flush with mine, and he presses his forehead to mine as he breathes out sharply. Even that simple gesture makes me hold my breath again to keep quiet. He whispers something in elven that makes me blush richly and grin. He breathes quickly, his fingers tightening on me. He waits a long moment before kissing me again, and then he moves.

Every part of me longs to make a noise, but I resist, shaking against him as I grip at his skin. Sweat beads my back as I struggle, and I smile against his lips when his fingers move my knee up higher on his waist. He chooses the perfect pace, his breath hitching deliciously whenever he fights a sound, and that makes my skin flame even more. The wild whip of heat threatens to overwhelm me, and I feel my control slipping.

Solas suddenly rolls us over until we’re on our sides. He uses the angle to wind his arm around my waist more, pulling me to him. I grip his arms, rolling my hips, and he releases a quiet sound that overwhelms me. I hear the campfire outside crackle loudly, and someone gasps softly in surprise. I pull my lips from his, dropping my forehead to his shoulder as I struggle not to make a sound. He rolls more onto his back, and I reach up, gripping the bedroll beneath him. He finds my face, pulling me up as he presses his forehead to mine, our skin slick with sweat. I gasp and thrust my hips down against his more quickly, rolling with him as he moves up against me. I shift them into a quick circle when we meet, and he gives another soft sound, leaning up to devour me again. I pant against his lips, letting my tongue delve into his mouth as whispered grunts escapes me.

His arm clenches around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip. His other hand spreads over my thigh, gripping it as I grind against him. He swallows against my lips, and I drop my hips, changing my rhythm a little. He groans against me softly, and I nearly reach my peak at the sound, at the thought of him being uncontrolled. A quiet whine slips through me, and he swallows it swiftly. His fingers dig into me more, and he suddenly moves his hand between us, sliding against my stomach easily. I gasp and hold my breath when he finds that swollen bundle of nerves, entering a quick circle that blinds me. His other arm raises up my back, his fingers raking down my skin. His movements, his fingers, his kiss, his breaths, and his sounds all overwhelm me, and in an instant, I fall over the edge.

I pull my lips off his, holding my breath as I drop my head to his shoulder. His fingers lace through my hair, his breaths turning into whispered groans. Another small whine escapes me as I clench down hard around him, and I clamp my hands into fists against the bedroll so tight it hurts. Solas grips my waist with his arm, moving up into me as I whimper again. He thrusts twice more before he stills, groaning under his breath. He waits a moment, stuttered breaths bursts from him before he moves again, and I hear the campfire outside roar to life as I whine again, pleading with myself not to make a sound. Solas tightens his arm around me, his fingers still working against me beautifully as the waves overwhelm me. I whimper again as he moves his lips to my neck, kissing my skin ardently as I roll against him greedily.

I squeeze my eyes shut, holding my breath again, and then it all comes crashing back down on me, and I collapse on top of him. He moves his fingers up my back reverently, taking his other hand away as I grow sensitive to his touch. I pant against his shoulder, kissing it languidly. He finds my face, pulling me to his lips, and I groan quietly against him, shaking a little. He smiles against me, and I whimper once more, pressing my fingers to his cheek. His thumb arcs over my skin as our breaths meld together.

He kisses me for a long moment before I roll off him, collapsing beside him.

“Do you think they noticed the fire?” I whisper.

He smirks at me, pulling me to his lips again fervently. I chuckle against him, sighing out quietly.

***

By the time we _finally _get back to Skyhold, it’s way after midnight. Solas and I stumble upstairs and go to bed, barely making time to undress before we collapse.

In the morning, I wake up in an initially confusing position. Usually when we’re in this bed, I find myself splayed across at least two corners of it, maybe one hand thrown across the edge or Solas’ stomach. Today, however, I find myself—quite literally—intertwined with Solas. Judging from his steady breathing under my head, he’s still asleep, but as I slowly become aware of my surroundings, I realize my arms are a vise around him. My leg is wedged between both of his, and I realize there is no part of me not currently against him in some way or another. When I feel the icy breeze against my back, I realize why I’ve curled against him so tightly in my sleep. I must have forgotten to close the doors. I pull my head up blearily off Solas’ chest, blinking and wincing in the morning light to see that I kicked the blanket off sometime in the night.

I make a face at that, looking up at Solas to see him sound asleep. One of his arms is wound around my back, his fingers draped across my ribs. His other hand is loosely wrapped around the arm I have slung over his stomach, his fingers gentle and warm.

I shiver against the next breeze, squeezing him gently as I move my head back to his chest. I yawn quietly, stretching my back without moving away from him. I groan without meaning to, the sound slipping from me, and then I sigh and fall against Solas again gently. He shifts in his sleep, his arm tightening around me tenderly. I close my eyes, quite cold but also too comfortable to get up and find the blanket. I settle for a happy medium—my back may be freezing, but the rest of me is quite warm against Solas.

I peek at the windows to gauge the time, deeming it too early to track Morrigan down.

Solas shifts a little more, his breath growing shallow.

“Mm, sorry,” I hum tiredly, my voice thick. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he replies softly, his thumb arcing over my arm.

“Cold,” I laugh.

He chuckles and tightens his hold on me, breathing out quietly.

I groan again. “I don’t want to get up.”

He repeats his quiet laugh, and I feel his lips press against my hair briefly. I look up at him, admiring the color of his eyes under my own dropping eyelids. He smirks at me gently, his expression almost amused.

“Mm?” I hum, too lazy to open my mouth.

“Nothing, vhenan,” he whispers, his eyes almost sad. “Ar lath ma.”

“Ma lath,” I reply quietly, moving my head back to his chest. “I hope you don’t mind staying here forever…too comfortable to move.”

His silent laughter shakes me, and he reaches up to absently brush my hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so quiet, that I wonder if he meant to say it out loud at all.

I close my eyes and breathe out again, moving my head over a little so I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

***

As soon as I set foot in the garden, I realize—not for the first time—that this is a place where I really should spend more time. It’s quiet and peaceful, and there usually aren’t too many people gathered.

I walk through the maze of plants and bushes slowly, searching for Morrigan. I don’t see her at first glance, so I head over to a bench and perch on its arm, glancing around the paths and many flowers. Really is a beautiful place.

“You’re the Inquisitor.”

I look up at the child’s voice, seeing a boy of about ten standing before me. His expression is composed but undeniably curious, his eyes boring into mine with the intensity of a scholar more than twice his age.

“Mother never told me the Inquisitor was an elf,” he continues slowly. His voice is mature for his age, his words carefully chosen and constructed. 

I snap my fingers. “Ears gave me away, huh?”

He looks at me seriously, cocking his head. “No.”

“My height?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, the vallaslin.”

“No,” he replies again. “Your blood is very old. I saw it right away.”

I feel my brow furrow in curiosity and confusion. “My—”

“Kieran.” At the sound of Morrigan’s voice, I look up. She comes to the boy’s side, and he glances up at her expectantly. “Are you bothering the Inquisitor?”

“Of _course _not,” he replies seriously. “Did you _see _what’s on her hand, Mother?” he adds, his voice full of wonder—but not the wonder of a child. His enthusiasm feels different somehow.

“I did see,” she answers. “‘Tis time to return to your studies, little man.”

He sighs, and I smile at him sympathetically. Morrigan gives him an almost stern look, communicating without words. He glances at me and smiles before turning around and disappearing around the bushes.

Morrigan suddenly chuckles gently, looking at me. “My son. _Never _where you expect him to be, naturally.”

“He’s a fine young man,” I reply with a smile.

Morrigan smirks. “But not the sort one might expect a woman like me to raise? No son of mine would be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact with the outside world. His future will be difficult enough without my adding to his burden.”

“I only meant that few children his age are so…” I squint as I search for the right word. “Well-spoken?”

Morrigan chuckles, and then looks up over the walls around us. “To think, until recently, this place stood decrepit, occupied only by the desperate and the lost. Now it is party to events that threaten to shake the world.” She surveys the stone again. “I wonder if it is pleased.”

“You’ve heard of Skyhold?” I ask

“This fortress was built upon the remains of a site holy to the ancient elves.” I blink in surprise. “They called it Tarasyl’an: ‘The place where the sky is kept.’ You did not know?”

“No,” I answer quietly. “I didn’t.”

“I only discovered it after many years of research into ancient elves. It is said that from here, they reached up to the heavens to bring them down to rest. They abandoned it, as did the humans who lived here after them. Bones laid upon bones, silent until your arrival.”

I look down.

“I have upset you,” she muses factually.

“No, it’s just—” I sigh heavily, looking at her evenly. “The history of my people, and I knew nothing of this place. You’re…not elven, yet you know more than I.”

She nods once. “Ah…”

I shake my head. “At any rate, we were lucky to have found Skyhold when we did. It…literally saved us.”

“Fate is often mistaken for luck, as Mother is fond of saying. The magic in this place has seeped into the stones, protecting it from darkness. Those who let it fall to ruin did not know what they possessed. You, I think, shall do it justice.” She glances around the walls and then back at me. “You were kind to welcome my aid, Inquisitor, even knowing as little of me as you do. I will do my best to aid your cause with all the knowledge at my disposal. This I swear to you.”

“Thank you, Morrigan,” I reply seriously. “I very much appreciate your support.” 

She nods once. “Some might think Corypheus a madman for seeking godhood, yet one must ask: what _were _the Old Gods? What secrets of theirs did the ancient magisters know? What I fear—what all _should _fear—is not that Corypheus believes he can succeed; ‘tis that he actually _may_.”

I stare at her a second, and she holds my gaze levelly until I drop my eyes. “Well…on that…cheerful note…”

Morrigan offers a quiet chuckle. “You remind me of a man I once traveled with. He, too, used humor to nullify fear. He was, of course, a blithering fool,” she adds indifferently, “but I see your humor is not because you do not know how to take things seriously; ‘tis that you do, and that is what frightens you most of all.”

“Buy a girl a drink first,” I mumble.

Her answering smile is wry. “My apologies, Inquisitor.”

“Morrigan, may I ask you something?”

She smirks again. “Ah, yes. Whence comes the mystery woman, slinking her way into the Inquisition’s ranks? Once, I was an apostate, living well away from the banal influence of the Chantry in the Korcari Wilds.”

_ And the world feared that one day she might return_.

I blink when the memory of Solas’ words hits me, and I frown at myself.

Morrigan continues without noticing my reaction—or without caring. “Then came the Fifth Blight with its darkspawn, and I left Ferelden for the empress’ court. ‘Tis certain the nobles of Orlais breathe a collective sigh of relief that I am now here.”

“You were in Ferelden during the Blight?”

“The Blight began in the Korcari Wilds, so yes—I experienced it firsthand.”

“_That’s _how Leliana knows you,” I realize.

Morrigan purses her lips, as if unhappily. “You miss nothing, Inquisitor. Indeed, I fought at the Hero of Ferelden’s side for a time. _She _is the reason the Blight was defeated. She was…” Morrigan glances away, her eyes tight. “…a very dear friend of mine. Leaving was…a difficult but necessary decision.” She composes her voice again, donning one of resolute authority. “And after that, I came to Orlais. The last place one would look for me, or such was my hope.”

“Inquisitor!” an agent calls, walking over briskly. “Inquisitor, Cullen wishes to see you as soon as possible regarding an important matter.”

“Forgive me, Morrigan,” I murmur.

“Another time, Inquisitor,” she replies, her eyes watching me closely. I glance away when it feels like she sees more than I want her to. I walk through the gardens to the door to the main hall. Before I slip inside, I glance back to see Morrigan still watching me, her expression curious and calculating.

***

I stir my soup around the bowl disinterestedly. Solas reads quietly across from me, his own soup finished. He glances up at me when he notices my reticence.

“Something on your mind, vhenan?” he wonders softly. 

I sigh quietly, looking up at him. I drop my spoon, setting my hand on the table near my bowl. “Did you know Skyhold was sitting on an ancient elven holy site?”

Solas blinks, closing the book. He sits up, leaning against the table. “Who told you that?”

“So, you did know?”

He watches me closely, his eyes dancing between mine. “Yes,” he admits.

I look down and then back up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He reaches across the table for my hand, running his thumb in a soothing circle against my fingers. “Ir abelas. I should have told you.”

“Did you…Did you think I wouldn’t…care?”

“Of course not, vhenan.”

“Did you—”

“Inquisitor.”

I try not to be angry when I look away from Solas to the agent at the door. “Yes?”

“They’re ready for you.”

“Who is?”

“The war council.”

I close my eyes, rubbing my hand against my temple. “Shit, I completely forgot. I’ll be right there.”

“As you say, Your Worship.”

The agent leaves, and I look back at Solas. His eyes are sad as his thumb stops on my fingers. “Are you angry with me?” he asks quietly.

“No,” I sigh. “No, of course not. I just…” I sigh again. “It makes me sad to learn a thing like that from…someone who isn’t even elven.”

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispers again, sincerity making his expression solemn. “I…” He glances down and then back up at me. “Later, after your council, I will tell you what I learned of Skyhold in the Fade.”

“Really?” I ask, fighting a smile.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does it…have a really sad history?”

Solas breathes out slowly. “I will…tell you what I know tonight.”

“Ominous,” I mutter jokingly. “Alright, later, then.”

He nods and brings my hand up to kiss it lightly.

The smile wins out, and I blush, standing. “Alright, alright, you’re _forgiven_. Fenedhis.”

He offers a warm smile as I stand, but, as I pass through the door, I glance back to see him stare hollowly at the wall, his smile gone.

***

The door to the war room closes harder behind me than I mean for it to, and everyone looks up.

“Good, you’re here,” Cullen says, watching me as I walk to the table.

“Sorry I’m late,” I reply, resting my hands on the wood. “It’s time to plan our next attack. What’s the state of the Inquisition?”

“We’re well-loved in Orlais,” Josephine replies. “Say the word, and Empress Celene will send her support.”

Cullen nods. “And your actions at Adamant denied Corypheus his army of pet demons. With Orlais’ support, our numbers match his. Corypheus’ followers must be panicking,” he adds with a smirk.

“My agents agree,” Leliana nods. “Our victories have shaken his disciples.”

“Mm,” I muse, “perhaps they’re rethinking their allegiance to a would-be god. Do we know where Corypheus is now?”

Cullen leans forward, resting a hand on the table. “After you dealt with the duchess, Corypheus uprooted his major strongholds. It took us a while to find him, but he’s moving south to the Arbor Wilds. His army clearly wasn’t prepared to flee. Our victories have them on the defensive.”

I smirk, moving my hands behind my back. “Good, and that’s where they’ll stay. If Corypheus is cowering in the Arbor Wilds, then that’s where we’ll go.”

Josephine frowns. “But that _is _Corypheus doing in much a remote area? He could have fled in any direction. Why that one?”

“His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” Leliana answers. “We believe he seeks more. What he hopes to find, however, continues to elude us.”

“Which should surprise no one,” a rich voice muses. 

Leliana glances behind me at the new addition and glares as Morrigan comes to a stop beside me.

“Were you waiting for that opening?” I wonder.

“Fortunately,” Morrigan continues, ignoring me, to her credit, “I can assist.”

“Please,” I encourage, waving a hand before returning it to my back.

“What Corypheus seeks in those forgotten woods is as ancient as it is dangerous.”

“Which is?” I ask when she doesn’t continue.

Morrigan glances at the others before looking at me. “‘Tis best…if I show you.”

She steps backwards and turns around, heading back through the war room door. Leliana looks more than annoyed when I turn back. “Guess it’s a field trip, then,” I muse, catching Cullen’s amused expression at my tone. “Keep—uh—war counciling while I’m gone.”

“Inquisitor,” Leliana replies, her voice tight.

Morrigan doesn’t speak to me as we walk, though I try asking her to elaborate. Each time I do, she merely smiles, like the hahrens used to smile when I harassed them for answers. She leads me back into the gardens and then into a room at the back, using a key she procures from her pocket.

When we step inside, I gape at a large—_massive_—mirror at the end of the room. The entire room is bare, save this one item. It takes up the whole back wall, its arched tip almost pressing against the ceiling a dozen feet above us. The mirror’s gold frame glistens brilliantly even this low light. As I edge closer to it, I feel a dull hum of magic. I cock my head at the reflection the mirror produces, for it is like no reflection I’ve ever seen. It distorts reality, offering a loose interpretation of it. Shapes move behind me, and I glance back to check that they’re not really there.

“This,” Morrigan murmurs, admiring it with respect, “is an eluvian.”

“An eluvian?” I repeat softly.

“An elven artifact from a long time before their empire was lost to human greed.” I stare at it sadly, another twinge of regret twisting in my chest. I’ve never heard of such an artifact. “I restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds. _That _is what Corypheus seeks.”

“It’s…beautiful,” I murmur, transfixed.

“Indeed. I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbor Wilds, untouched. It proved too dangerous to approach, and thus I turned elsewhere to find _my _prize. If Corypheus has turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The eluvian would be his.”

“What…what does it do?”

Morrigan waves her hand over the mirror, and blue energy bursts forth, the glass humming with magic at a quiet frequency. I feel a delicate pull at the Anchor on my hand, and the soft melody of its rhythm, similar to what I feel when I hear elven spoken aloud. It thrums softly under my skin. The images in the mirror change. They no longer reflect the room; instead, I see a veiled, shadowy blue world on the other side. It’s indecipherable, though—like viewing something through a pool of water whose surface is rippling from some disturbance.

Morrigan looks at me. “A more appropriate question would be, ‘_where _does it lead?’”

I watch, confused, as she steps to the mirror. She passes through the glass, disappearing from the room. I blink, hesitating before I reach forward to touch the glass. Instead of feeling it beneath my fingers, I see my hand disappear. Magic hums more thickly against my skin, enticing me. It feels ancient and elven, as Morrigan said, and I feel it pull at me warmly, encouraging me to step forward with a delicate invitation. I lift my foot through, ducking into the mirror slowly, coming out beside Morrigan.

But where we end up is nothing like Skyhold.

I look up, and my jaw falls open. Light shines white here, but I can’t quite make out the sky through a heavy layer of bluish mist that clings to the ground, abstracting from view anything beyond a few feet, with a few major exceptions. The floor is stone beneath our feet, but we stand outside—whatever constitutes as being outside in this place. Through the mist, as it gently moves, I make out golden statues shaped like trees, their branches bent into a bulbous figure, as if an invisible ball were placed in their centers. I look back at the glowing eluvian we emerged from and see all around us dozens—maybe hundreds—of other eluvians. Their frames are the same shimmering gold, but the glass is dark and black.

“If this place once had a name,” Morrigan murmurs softly, “it has long been lost.”

Her voice returns to us, echoing across a vast distance before lazily ricocheting back.

I walk forward a few steps, barely able to make out a fallen fortress in the distance through the fog. Surrounding its crumbled structure are tall statues—these of elven men, bows pointed out away from the fortress, but they’re leaning and broken, destroyed ages ago.

Despite its state of disrepair, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—it’s proof. It’s evidence that the elves were once a vast nation. I don’t know how, but I can feel it in my bones. I can feel it singing in my blood; this place belongs to my people.

I realize my eyes have flooded when my vision blurs, and I wipe them quickly, desperate to see everything. A sudden, powerful wish washes over me, that Solas was here beside me so he could see this place, too. What would he find? What would he think?

“What is this place?” I whisper.

“I call it the Crossroads,” Morrigan answers. “It’s a place where all eluvians join…wherever they might be.”

“This place is _extraordinary_,” I gasp, my voice high and emotional even as I try to tame it. “How could this even _exist_?”

“Who can say?” she replies, looking around. “Formed from the fabric of time and space, perhaps. The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins hidden in far-flung corners. This is how they traveled between them. As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark: broken, corrupted, or unusable. As for the rest…a few can be opened from this side—but _only _a few.”

“This place feels…” My breath rushes out of me, excitement rendering me speechless for a moment. “It feels—constructed…created by…by…”

“By magic?” Morrigan finishes.

“Yes—like…someone…made a pocket in the Fade…with its own rules of reality.” My eyes flood again, and I raise a hand to my mouth, my fingers trembling. “If the ancient elves could do _this_…”

“It seems remarkable—_impossible_—that the magisters of Tevinter could ever challenge them, yes,” Morrigan agrees.

“But…it’s deteriorating. Eventually…”

“This place will collapse in on itself,” Morrigan nods solemnly. “Who can say how old it is? For now, it stands, and thus retains its value.”

“How did you ever _find _this place?” I whisper.

“My travels have led me to many strange destinations, Inquisitor—”

“Morrigan,” I say breathlessly, turning to her in desperation. “_Please_. This—this belongs to my _people_—this…this is—this is a _relic_—_how _did you find it?”

“I cannot say,” Morrigan replies after a moment. “I can only say that once, my travels led me here. It offered sanctuary. Not all the mirrors lead back to our world. The ancients were nothing if not…resourceful.”

I blink at her. “What—_our _world? Where…where else would they lead?”

“Places…between,” Morrigan answers with a private smile, “like this one. I can describe it no better. For a time, I was safe from those who hunted me. But _only _for a time. One cannot remain in between forever.”

I blink rapidly again to clear my vision as my mind races. “Wait—what did you mean, only a _few _can be opened from this side?”

“Some of the eluvians have been left unlocked, like doors accidentally left ajar. All others are closed. They can be opened _only _from beyond.”

“Opened how?”

“With a key.”

“You have one?”

“The key can be many things. Each eluvian is different.”

“What does that mean?”

“A key can be a word, a phrase…a spell—perhaps even an object; I have not yet discovered the extent to which these keys exist. _I _have knowledge as well as power. Often, that is enough.”

“Wait…I don’t…” I shake my head. “Corypheus wants to come…here?”

“This…is not the Fade, but it is _very _close. Someone with enough power _could _tear down the ancient barriers…”

“And enter the Fade in the flesh,” I breathe. “Like Corypheus wanted to do with the Anchor.” A sudden flash of anger rushes through me. “He doesn’t have the _right _to be here—to see this.”

Morrigan nods in agreement. “He learned of the eluvian in the Arbor Wilds, as I did. He marshals the last of his forces to reach it.” She gestures and then leads me back to the eluvian we came through. “You have made Corypheus desperate, Inquisitor. We must work together to stop him—and soon.”

She steps through the eluvian, and then I’m alone in the Crossroads. I turn around again, taking another look at the history of my people. I eye the fortress in the distance, the fallen bowmen statues. My eyes fill once more, and I lower my head, stepping through the mirror.

Morrigan is waiting for me, her arms crossed. “Let us return to your war council, Inquisitor. We have no time to waste.”

I swallow and follow her numbly, blinking slowly as I stare at the ground beneath our feet. I have no memory of traveling the distance, but I find myself in the war room. Morrigan’s conversation with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine feels very far away, though I know I should be listening—I _need_ to be listening.

Instead, I find myself incapable of focusing on their questions and her explanations. I look out the window, crossing my arms over my stomach. I feel heavy with this discovery.

It doesn’t make sense. If the ancient elves were powerful enough to create a world between worlds, how could they ever fall to the Tevinter Empire?

How can Morrigan know so much about my people?

I recall the Arlathvhen Keeper Deshanna allowed me to attend with her—dozens of stories and warnings and songs, but not _one _of them spoke of anything even _remotely _close to the power our people once held. Tales of immortality were shared, of course, and tales of magic, but this…this is more.

Everything Solas said…I never imagined—never even _considered _that we were once _that _powerful, despite what he spoke of.

I’d never once heard the name ‘eluvian’ until Morrigan said it. And an elven temple in the Arbor Wilds? How could _I _not know this? These are…_my _people’s artifacts, _my _people’s history—and I learn about it not from my keeper or from Solas but from a human who—

“Inquisitor,” Cullen says. It doesn’t sound like the first time.

I jerk my head up at him. “Ye—” My voice comes out hoarse, and I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes worried.

“Yes,” I reply, looking down. “Of course. I…I apologize. What were you saying?”

Leliana shifts her stance. “I’m still not quite clear,” she admits. “With an eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?”

“Indeed,” Morrigan answers. “The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work if one knows how to use them.”

Leliana looks at me, and it takes me a second to realize why. “Uh—yes. Yes, they’re…still functioning,” I reply slowly.

“What happens if Corypheus enters the Fade?” Cullen asks. I feel his eyes on me as I frown at the table.

Morrigan hums. “Why, he will gain his heart’s desire and take the power of a god. _Or_—and this is more likely—the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart.”

“One more reason to stop him,” I mutter, looking at the map distractedly.

“Indeed. Should Corypheus succeed, do not doubt you would be the first to feel his holy wrath.”

“Pardon me,” Josephine says quickly, her voice anxious, “but…does this mean everything is lost unless we get to the eluvian before him?”

Silence falls over the war council, making the answer clear.

Cullen moves his hands to his sword pommel. “Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves.”

“We should gather our allies before we march,” Josephine says.

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana wonders. “We should send out spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

“Without support from the soldiers?” Cullen scoffs. “You’d lose half of them!”

“Then what _should _we do?” Josephine demands.

“For starters,” I say loudly, cutting off Cullen’s response. I look up at them all. “We don’t let Corypheus worry us to death. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’ army until Cullen’s soldiers arrive.”

Morrigan laughs, clearing her throat as Leliana glares at her. “_Such _confidence, but the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors,” she says, her voice indicating that I should have known that. Perhaps I should have. “Old elven magic lingers in those woods.”

I look down at the table, feeling Cullen’s eyes on me again as I frown and cross my arms.

Josephine nods, ever the diplomat. “We would be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan. Please, lend us your expertise.”

I glance up at Leliana in time to see her roll her eyes, exasperated. I don’t know why it makes me feel so much better.

Morrigan nods. “‘Tis why I came here, although it is good to see its value recognized.”

Leliana rolls her eyes even harder, offering me a look that I smirk at.

“Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Cullen wonders.

I breathe out, feeling a moment of weightlessness press against me. I look up at them all individually, feeling my expression soften. “The Inquisition began as a handful of soldiers. Thanks to you, we’re now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god.” I smile, feeling it well within me. “I could ask for no _finer _council and no better guidance. I’m…I’m so very proud of you all, and I am _honored _to have you as my commander, ambassador, and spymaster.”

Cullen smiles at me warmly. “I speak for all of us when I answer: We could ask for no finer Inquisitor and no finer cause.”

I smile, looking down.

Leliana nods softly. “We’ll hound Corypheus in the Wilds before he can find the temple or this ‘eluvian,'” she promises. “Now, let us begin planning. We have no room for error.”


	50. The Last of My Children

We spend countless hours together in the war room preparing. We rearrange troop movements, take turns walking around the table to determine possible weak points, and the three of them argue back and forth about the most efficient way to surround Corypheus’ forces. Morrigan shares a great deal of what she knows of the Arbor Wilds, and almost every plan we come up with is altered significantly by that knowledge. It, of course, makes us stronger, but no one can deny how vexing it is to come up with a fool-proof plan only to have Morrigan nonchalantly point out several different flaws in our logic. It doesn’t help that she does it so arrogantly. Even Josephine beings to get frustrated with the constant rebuttals. Before we break, however, we have a moment to stare at the table, satisfied with our plan.

Morrigan retires before anyone else to find her son, and the four of us remain for a few hours more, going over it all a couple more times. Leliana and Cullen leave to give instructions to their agents and soldiers, and Josephine goes to her office to write letters to our allies. I stay another couple hours, staring at the war table as my mind races with every way this can go wrong.

By the time I finally leave, I’m starved and exhausted and dehydrated.

I’m on my way to collapse on Solas’ couch when Varric stops me. “There you are!” he sighs. “I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re just in time. We almost had to start without you.”

“How rude—what exactly were you starting without me?”

“You promised us a game of Wicked Grace and see as how we’re all marching into battle tomorrow, now’s as good a time as any. Everyone’s waiting in the tavern. Let’s _go_.”

I smirk at him, glancing up to see Solas walk past his door in his study, a book open in his hand. “Hang on, let me grab Solas.”

“Chuckles? I tried, but he didn’t bite. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

I smirk again and head into Solas’ office in a better mood. He paces the room slowly, reading diligently. “Solas?” I murmur quietly—so quietly, it turns out, that he doesn’t hear me. “Solas.”

He looks up, his eyes slow to return. He smiles warmly, closing the book. “Forgive me, vhenan.”

“We’re playing a game of Wicked Grace. Won’t you come?” I ask with a deliberately wide grin.

He gives me an affectionate look. “No, vhenan,” he murmurs softly. “I have several preparations to make for tomorrow.”

“Can’t it wait?” I smile. “It’ll be _fun_,” I add, singing the last word.

He lifts his hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing against the corner of my mouth. He leans down to me, kissing me softly and unexpectedly. “Go on with them,” he says quietly, his eyes closed as he presses his forehead to mine. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Yes,” he smiles.

“_Positive_?”

He chuckles and nods against me.

“One hundred percent, absolutely—”

He kisses me again, his lips effectively shutting me up. I smile against him as his thumb arcs over my cheek. “Enjoy the evening, vhenan,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. His thumb trails down my cheek, and I think his eyes grow sad as he looks at me, but he composes the reaction so quickly that I’m sure I imagined it.

“Alright,” I reply slowly. “If you’re _sure_…I’ll see you upstairs.”

He nods, his eyes drawing me in before he releases me. I back out of the room, squinting at him in case he changes his mind. He chuckles once, watching me go. His expression turns affectionate and adoring, and I grin at him before I turn around.

“Couldn’t convince him to have fun for once?” Varric teases as we walk.

“Couldn’t convince him to lose money to you,” I correct.

Varric laughs loudly, patting my back as we climb down the stairs to the courtyard. “Fair enough, fair enough. C’mon, we better hurry. If we’re late, they threatened to order drinks _for _us.”

I laugh and skip alongside Varric, holding my hands behind my back.

When we reach the tavern, I grin widely when I see the tables the others pushed together. The place is loud and bustling, and I head over happily to the largest group. Blackwall, Cullen, Bull, Cole, Josie, Cass, and Dorian all wait for us, each glancing over as we arrive.

“I found her, Ruffles!” Varric announces over the roar of the soldiers around the bar. “Deal her in!”

Cullen raises his mug to me in greeting, and Bull offers a loud _yeah! _as I wedge myself between him and Josephine.

“Here, you must be starving,” Cullen says, reaching across the table to hand me a plate. "I ordered this for you."

“_Thank _you,” I groan, accepting it quickly. “Gods, I was ready to keel over.” I take one whiff of the vegetable stew and groan again loudly. I take a steaming bite and regret my impatience instantaneously. I wave a hand over my mouth, gasping. "Ugh, so good, but so hot," I whimper, waving my hand faster. 

Cullen laughs sympathetically, and I smirk at Josie as she shuffles the deck professionally, laying down my cards.

“Oh, I do hope I recall the rules,” she confides. “It’s been _ages _since I’ve played a game of Wicked Grace.”

I grin at her, chewing swiftly.

“C’mon, we playin’ or what?” Bull complains.

“Okay, okay, but go easy on me!” I exclaim. “I’m still new to this. What’s in this?” I add, looking at Bull’s mug.

“Try it,” he snickers.

“Don’t!” Cullen warns.

“Seriously, do not,” Dorian adds. “He just wants to see you spluttering.”

“They don’t know how to handle their liquor,” Bull rumbles. “How ‘bout you, boss?”

“Was that a challenge?” I muse, glancing at Varric. “That sounded like a challenge.”

“Sounded like one to me, too, Snow.”

“I really wouldn’t,” Cullen says quickly when I grab the mug.

I smirk at him and raise an eyebrow at Bull, who watches me eagerly. I glance down to see a swallow left, so I throw it back. The liquor hits the back of my throat like fire, and tears flood my eyes. I slam the mug down, coughing once as I swallow. Bull roars, and Cullen and Dorian laugh.

“Way to go, boss,” Bull grins, slamming his hand against my back so hard that I hit the table, laughing. “Whoops—sorry.”

I laugh again, grinning up at him.

“Wait, are three drakes better than a pair of swords?” Cassandra suddenly wonders. “I can never remember.”

“Seeker,” Varric chuckles, “remember how I said, ‘don’t show anyone your cards’? That rule includes announcing it to the table.”

I grin, and Cassandra sighs.

“There’s a crown on his head,” Cole murmurs, staring at one of his cards, “but a sword, too. His head didn’t want either.”

“Don’t talk to the face cards, kid,” Varric advises with another chuckle.

Cullen sighs suddenly, on the verge of standing. “You seem to have enough people now. I have a thousand things to do before tomorrow.”

“No, no, no, no,” I say quickly, gesturing for him to sit again. “Stay!”

He glances at me as Dorian leans across the table. “Losing money can be both relaxing _and _habit-forming,” he says. “Give it a try, eh?”

“Curly, if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it’s you,” Varric adds.

I laugh loudly, offering a solemn and serious expression when Cullen narrows his eyes at me. My smile wins out, though, and I quickly laugh again, chewing as I pull my legs up into my chair.

"Alright, I'll stay," Cullen sighs, sitting again with a smirk at me. I cheer him, clapping loudly, earning a second smirk. 

Josephine shifts beside me. “Okay, dealer starts. Ooh…I…believe.” She worries her lip. “I’ll start at…three coppers! Do you think that’s too daring?” she adds, hesitating. “Maybe I’ll make it one…No! Boldness,” she grins. “Three it is!”

Dorian cheers, and I laugh, clapping my hands, but Bull scoffs. “_Seriously_? Who _starts _at three coppers? Silver, or go home,” he teases.

“No, no, three coppers—I’m in,” Blackwall says quickly.

“Bolder the better, right?” Dorian grins. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Varric says, tossing his coins into the center.

“Take my money, you jerks,” I sigh, throwing three coppers in.

The others cheer, and I give a bow to them before eating another bite of my stew.

“So _shiny_!” Cole gasps, staring at a coin in his hand.

“Cole,” I laugh loudly, “don’t say things like that. They make me want to hug you.”

“But I like hugs!”

“_Why _is he sitting all the way over there?” I demand.

“Alright, alright, alright, everyone get your coin in,” Varric says, waving his hand. “Good, let’s play. Now, as is customary amongst the players of Wicked Grace—”

“Oh brother,” Cassandra sighs heavily.

Varric raises an eyebrow at her. “Seeker, if you’re not careful, I’m going to nominate you first. The object of the game is—”

“To bet and lose all your money to me,” Dorian finishes quickly.

“That,” Varric says, waving at him, “but _firstly_, we’re here to see who has the better poker face. We know Cassandra and Cole are out—” Everyone laughs, and Cassandra throws her hands up in the air, making us laugh harder. “—but I’m putting my money on Snow—”

I offer a winsome smile, fanning myself with my cards.

“Or Curly here.”

Cullen rolls his eyes.

“On second thought—”

I crack up, clapping my hands once as Josephine giggles beside me. “Our commander is many things,” she says, “but mindful of his expressions is _not _one of them.”

“Oh, har, har,” Cullen mumbles, making me laugh louder. He glances up at me, his eyes seeming to catch before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes again.

“It’s okay, Curly,” Varric says, clapping his armored shoulder. “We all have different talents.” I giggle again, reaching for my mug and taking a quick sip. I take a bread roll from the center as Varric looks at the rest of us again. “Now, the second part of this game is even more important than the first, and that’s to see who, hands down, has the best story to tell tonight. You will be judged not only by the story itself but on style and intrigue. Cole will help choose the winner.”

“I get to help?” he gasps.

“Cole!” I groan. “Josie, give Cole a hug for me, would you?”

She giggles beside me, and Varric nods at Cole. “She’s trying to bribe you with love, kid. Don’t fall for it.” Varric narrows his eyes at me. “_That’s _why you wanted Chuckles to come,” he says, pointing at me. “You wanted a sidekick to help you cheat.”

I scoff and grab a handful of peanuts. I throw them at Varric, and he grins at me as I earn a roaring laugh from Bull and Blackwall.

“Point taken, your Inquisitorialness,” Varric smirks. “Who’s starting our story?”

“I nominate Commander Cullen Rutherford!” I exclaim.

Varric raises an eyebrow at Cullen. “Her Highness has spoken.”

Cullen smirks at Varric then at me. “_Fine_. I’ve got one for you—I’ll raise, Josephine.”

“Ooh, it’s gettin’ serious,” I hum.

Bull nudges me, the playful gesture landing hard, and I crack up, wincing as I shove him back. I barely jostle him, and we both laugh loudly.

“Are you ready?” Cullen demands, feigning offence.

“Yes! Sorry, Commander Cullen, ser,” I say quickly. “A thousand apologies. Please proceed.”

He smirks. “Alright. This was back when I was at the Circle in Ferelden. We had just received a new group of recruits fresh from the Chantry—”

“Here, do you want this?” Bull asks, handing me another bread roll.

I gasp and nod, biting into it and humming for Cullen to continue.

He smirks at me again. “—and we were all training them, telling them what to expect. There were several bells that would chime throughout the day to signify various things, as well as emergency bells. Each room had a set, and every templar was given rigorous training in what each one meant, as well as how to respond. Well, this one day, at dinner, almost all of us were in the dining hall—eating or standing guard. There was one recruit missing from the others; his friends said he was having a bath before he arrived. What we’d _failed _to tell him, by accident, was that the bells were going to be tested that evening.” Blackwall laughs in anticipation. “Everyone else had been given this information, except for him, apparently. So, the bells chime eight times, signifying an emergency in the kitchens—the poor recruit ran out into the dining hall, dripping water everywhere, as seventy mages and thirty templars all turned to stare at once. A profound silence fell over the place. Then…a slow round of applause began—and spread until every soul was on their feet, a standing ovation.”

I die, sinking down into my chair. I can barely hear Josie giggling beside me as Bull and Blackwall roar with laughter.

“What—what did he do?” Josie manages to get out.

“Saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out like he was in full armor.”

I crack up again, clapping my hands as I fall over onto Josephine. Her laughter rings in my ear, but I can still barely hear her over Bull beside me.

“He did _not_!” Cass exclaims as Dorian says, “Good man.”

“You’re shitting us!” Bull roars, slamming the table with his hand.

“That’s how you know it’s true,” Varric laughs, reaching for another bottle of wine. “I could never put that in a book—too unlikely.”

“I’m raising,” Cass adds, tossing a few coins in.

“Shit, I’m out,” Bull sighs, throwing his cards down. “I’ve got a story for you that’ll blow your socks off.”

“But why would you want to do that?” Cole wonders, and the table erupts in a fit of laughter again.

“It’s just a metaphor, kid,” Varric chuckles.

“Oh…”

I throw a few coppers in as Bull continues. Cullen gets my attention, offering another mug. I smile warmly as I sit up to take it, looking at Bull as I sip it. I sigh at how good the cold drink is and pull my legs up into my chair again.

“So, this was—oh, five, six years ago, right? And the Chargers and I were in Rivain. We got hired by this noble guy to watch over his daughter’s wedding—he told us to keep an eye on the guests and everything, because he’d received a few threats, didn’t want his daughter’s wedding ruined. So, it’s me, Krem, Grim, Dalish, Skinner, and a guy named Vic. Needless to say,” he laughs, gesturing to himself, “we ain’t exactly good at ‘blending in.’ Krem was the only one of us that came looking like a wedding guest, but the rest of us? I got these giant horns, Dalish had her bow-staff, Grim wouldn’t talk to _anyone_, Skinner kept giving everyone the stink eye, and Vic was just salivating over the food. So—oh, uh, you gonna finish that, boss?” I laugh, sliding my nearly-empty stew bowl over to him. He nods appreciatively, draining the rest while I chuckle. “So, everyone—the whole time—was giving us dirty looks. A Qunari, a couple elves, a Vint, a silent guy, and a dwarf—we stuck out like a sore thumb—”

“Why is it sore?” Cole wonders.

I lean around Josie to grin at him affectionately. “Another figure of speech, Cole.”

“_Oh_…”

“So, the noble guy comes up to us and tells us we gotta separate, that we’re drawing too much attention, right? He tells us his daughter's getting suspicious, and he told her we were waiters, since he didn’t want her knowing he’d hired mercenaries, so then he throws us back into the kitchen to serve the food, right?”

Josephine throws her head back, laughing.

“So, Krem is the only one, again, to keep his shit together. As soon as we’re in the kitchen, Vic’s scarfing down whatever food he can get his hands on. Skinner’s talking about poisoning the wine, and Dalish is twirling her staff in the air. Grim’s just glowering in the corner—” Bull laughs, shaking his head. “We wind up serving cocktails to Rivaini nobles for _three hours _before we catch wind of the guys who want to break up the wedding. Turned out to be some ex-lover of the bridge who was trying to sabotage things. The noble didn’t want her to even see him, so we had to tie him up and keep him in the kitchen while we finished serving the guests.”

I laugh loudly, outmatched by Blackwall’s roar. “What if someone had come in the kitchen?” I cackle.

“We had Grim standing guard.”

I laugh harder. “But—”

“He doesn’t talk,” Bull finishes, shaking the table with his laugh. “Whenever someone tried to come in, he just glared at them until they slowly backed away.”

“Fen’Harel,” I gasp, wiping my eyes. “I can’t believe you served drinks at a wedding for a job.”

“Suffice it to say, I’m in _no _hurry to go back to Rivain.”

“Shit, I’m out,” Blackwall sighs.

“And then there were four,” Varric muses.

“No, I’m out, too,” Cass adds.

“Ooh, three now.” 

I glare playfully at Cullen and Varric. I suddenly break eye contact to see why Varric excluded Cole, and I realize he’s playing with his cards flat on the table for everyone to see. I grin and then return to glaring at my opponents, earning a chuckle from Varric.

“Alright,” I say, narrowing my eyes even more. “I raise you twenty cop—”

“That’s absurd!” Cullen exclaims.

I grin madly. “_Twenty _coppers.”

Cullen squints at me, leaning over to Varric. “You believe her?”

“She’s hard to read,” Varric muses, watching me. “It’s like…I _want _to believe her, but…” He sighs, shaking his head as I smirk. “What do you guys think? Snow full of it?”

“She’s bluffing,” Dorian says, grinning at me.

“Definitely bluffing,” Bull agrees.

“No, I think she’s really got it,” Josie replies.

“_Thank _you, Josie,” I muse.

“I believe her,” Cass adds.

“No, no, she’s bluffin’,” Blackwall chuckles.

Cullen narrows his eyes at me, watching me closely. I smile, trying to fight it. “Hm…I’ll raise you,” he says so unsurely that I laugh again.

“You sure about that?” I giggle.

“I’ll call,” Varric decides, equally suspicious.

“You boys ready?” I wonder.

Cullen sighs and reveals his hand. I smirk at his cards. Varric shows his, and my smile spreads.

“Oh Maker,” Cullen sighs, watching me. “She looks evil.”

“Aw shit. We made a mistake, Curly.”

I laugh loudly, throwing my cards down.

“No!” they both groan in unison, and I crack up again.

“She hustled us!” Varric exclaims. “I can’t believe you _hustled _me! ‘Oh, go easy on me, I’m new to Wicked Grace.’” I laugh loudly, clapping my hands.

Cullen shakes his head, smirking at me as I grin and laugh and pull the pile of money over to my side of the table.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” I muse, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I’ll give you a chance to win your pride back.”

Cullen smirks, watching me a second before he looks away.

“Who else wants in on this?” Varric asks.

“Me.”

“I’m in.”

“Yep.”

“Alright, cards back to Ruffles. Let’s go another round,” Varric says. “Now, we obviously need another story while we get settled.”

“I’ve got one for you,” Dorian grins.

“Oh, _this _should be good. Go ahead, Sparkles.”

“When I was back in the Imperium, my friend Maevaris and I—”

“Wait,” Varric says quickly, waving a hand. “Maevaris?”

“Yes.”

“Maevaris _Tilani_?”

Dorian frowns. “Wait, you know her?”

“_You _know her?”

“Of course _I _do! How do _you_?!”

“She—helped me and a couple friends out with—something.”

“Was that cryptic or what?” Cullen muses.

“I was just gonna say,” I laugh.

Varric sighs. “It was—top-secret, need-to-know-only, save-the-world spy stuff that—”

“Ugh, never mind, he’s not going to tell us,” I say, earning his smirk. “Dorian, please continue before you were so _rudely _interrupted.”

Varric laughs and winks at me.

“So, Mae and I were on our way to…to…” Dorian huffs and stares at Varric. “How did you even _meet _her? She’s a _magister_. _How _was I not made aware of this?”

“It was just a thing,” Varric shrugs.

“A _thing_?”

“Yeah, you know how it is. One person says, ‘hey, let’s go to Tevinter,’ and the rest are just, ‘yeah, okay, sure.’”

“What, and you just _happen _to meet one of the most _powerful _and _influential _Tevinter magisters in the—”

“Alright, alright,” Varric sighs heavily. “She’s—she was married to my cousin.”

Dorian stares at him, his jaw dropping. “She—_what_?! _Your _cousin was _Thorold_?!”

“How did you know Thorold?”

“I—she was _devastated _when he—how—this is—this is too much.”

“It’s a small world,” Varric shrugs.

“You’re being…entirely too cavalier. This is…very odd.”

“What was your story?” Bull wonders.

“Yeah, tell us your story,” Blackwall agrees.

“Honestly…Honestly, I don’t think I can _outdo_ the fact that I grew up with a lovely and charming woman named Maevaris Tilani who _somehow _met and, for all intents and purposes, married a dwarf named Thorold only to—years later, and quite by chance—hear of and join something called the Inquisition where I would meet and befriend not only one of her favorite writers but her _cousin_, for all intents and purposes, only to learn that this _secret _was—somehow kept from me the whole time!”

“Aw, look what you did,” I sigh. “You broke Dorian.”

“My whole life is a lie,” Dorian jokes, and I laugh loudly, clapping my hands once.

“Okay, while Sparkles short-circuits, anyone else got a story?”

“I’ve got one, I’ve got one,” I sing quickly, sitting up.

“_Yes_, good, Snow, let’s hear it.”

“Okay,” I grin, tearing off a piece of bread and chewing it quickly. I move my shoulders in a quick dance, realizing I perhaps should have waited to eat until _after _I was done talking. I glance up at Cullen to see him smile softly and then look at Varric as he raises an eyebrow playfully. I grin again. “Okay, so my clan decided to camp near this ruined fortress, right on the edge of the Tirashan—_dark _as the bottom of a well. The keeper _swore _up and down that it was safe, but some of the hunters started hearing noises in the middle of the night.”

“Ooh,” Josie hums, resting her chin on her hand as she watches me.

“Our keeper was asleep, so the hunters came to me—I think it was more because they knew I’d want to join them than for any sort of permission. So, we went into the trees, searching for the sounds. As we got closer, we heard three voices, two older and one rather young. They were all humans, and the two older were bullying the younger. The two assholes, we deduced, were guards from the local village. The younger one was barely more than a boy. We all looked at each other, and we knew we had to intervene, but we _also _knew it was dangerous to reveal ourselves. One of our hunters went up a tree, and we started making all kinds of weird, eerie noises. One of the bullies was on the verge of punching the boy when he heard us, and he turned around really slowly. They said something about ‘the spirit of the forest,’ so we ran with that. Our hunters demanded they stop what they were doing, and younger man just stared up at the trees in wonder.

“The ‘spirit of the forest’ asked the boy to tell us what the bullies’ punishment should be, and he said he wanted their armor to pay for food, that he and his family were going hungry—more specifically his pet rabbit Rupert—” I cut myself off laughing, wiping my eyes. “—whom he revealed from his coat pocket and proceeded to show off to the trees. It was a tiny little thing, eyes wide, ears twitching. _Why _he was carrying a rabbit around in his pocket, I’ve no idea, but he made sure the ‘spirit of the forest’ knew how much Rupert meant to him. He added that he was new to the country and didn’t want any trouble. We demanded the men’s armor at once. They stripped down faster than a _blink_, apologizing and swearing that it would never happen again. The young man took up the armor and left, heading further into the woods, and the guards asked what we were going to do with them. We told them to never come back and to never bully anyone else. They ran out of there _fast _as you can think, bare asses shining in the moonlight, the whole way back to their village.”

Blackwall and Bull roar a laugh, and Bull shoves me hard, launching me into Josie as I laugh.

“Not bad!” Varric laughs. “You don’t mind if I steal that one, do you?”

I laugh, shaking my head.

“That was _scandalous_!” Josephine gasps. “It would _ruin _the Inquisition if anyone found out…Tell it again,” she grins.

“You ought to tell stories more often,” Blackwall chuckles.

“I liked the part with the rabbit!” Cole says, playing with his cards again. “There should be more rabbits in stories.”

“I think it’s our professional storyteller’s turn,” I muse, crooking an eyebrow at Varric.

“Oh, that would _hardly _be fair,” he replies. “It _is _my craft, after all.”

Everyone groans and laughs in unison. “Go on, tell us one,” I say, trying to kick him under the table. I hit something else, and I glance under to see Sera sprawled out across the floor, unconscious. “What the—how long as she _been _here?” I laugh.

“She was like that when we got here,” Bull chuckles.

“Did anyone _check _on her?”

“She swatted at me when I tried to take her bottle,” Cullen admits.

“She called me a warmonger when I tried to pull her out,” Blackwall chuckles.

“Guess she’s happy then. Sorry, Varric, _please _continue.”

“Alright, alright. Did I ever tell you about the time we broke into Chateau Haine? It started, as most capers do, with a trap…”

***

“And then Hawke looks up and says, ‘looks like the duke…has fallen from grace.’”

Everyone bursts out laughing, and I join in quietly.

“_That’s _how Duke Prosper died?” Josie gasps. “You know, that’s almost perfect for him.”

“How ‘bout another hand?” Varric asks.

“You’re on,” I nod, grinning. “I think we need another round of drinks, though.”

“I’ll get them,” Cullen offers, standing.

“No, no, no! I’ll do it! I wasn’t—”

“I’ve got it,” he smiles warmly. “Just don’t start without me.”

I stretch my arms over my head, yawning once.

“So, Sul, how’s Solas?” Bull wonders a little _too_ casually.

Sera giggles madly under the table.

“Aren’t you _unconscious_?” I demand playfully, glancing down at her.

“Bet he screams out ‘elven glory’ when he does it,” she replies, giggling again.

I sigh heavily, covering my face with one hand.

“Ah, leave her alone,” Blackwall says. “It’s nice she’s found some happiness.”

For some reason, that makes me blush even more.

“Isn’t _anyone _curious?” Bull asks, looking around. “Doesn’t anyone wanna know what that guy’s like behind closed doors?”

“I imagine the same as when the door is opened,” Dorian mutters.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” I complain.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s lay off Snow,” Varric says.

“He _is _rather serious,” Cassandra adds.

I scoff, gaping at her. “Cass!”

“What?” she says defensively. “It is just an observation! He _is _serious!”

“She’s in love,” Cole murmurs with a smile.

My eyes widen as everyone looks at me, and I hide my face again. “_Cole_!”

“You are!” he replies. “I can hear it—hope flying, soaring, glinting. Wings in the—”

“Please, just kill me now,” I beg.

“What’s this, then?” Cullen laughs, setting a tray of mugs down. “What’d you do to our Inquisitor?”

“We just found out the boss here’s in love,” Bull grins.

I groan again, slamming my head against the table.

“I—” Cullen clears his throat. “Is—I thought we already knew that,” he replies quietly.

“No one said _love_,” Bull replies.

“He calls her—_vhenan_,” Cullen mutters. “Didn’t that tip you off?”

“Yeah, what does that mean, anyway?”

“It means ‘my heart,’ I think,” Dorian answers.

“Aw,” Josie squeals, gripping my arm. “That’s so _sweet_.”

“Please kill me,” I groan again, lifting my head only to hide my eyes.

“Does he scream out ‘elven glory’ when you do it?” Sera asks, her words slurring. 

“Fen’Harel,” I groan, trying to kick her.

She catches my foot, giggling madly. “Ha! She didn’t deny they’ve been bumpin’ bits. I _knew _it!”

“Sera, you’re _killing _me,” I whimper.

“Does he, though?”

“Cullen, please,” I groan, holding out my hand. When nothing touches my fingers, I look up at him, seeing him stare at the table with a flat expression. He glances up at me and then jerks into action, lifting a mug and handing it to me. “Thank you,” I gasp, taking a long drink.

“Easy, Snow,” Varric laughs. “Alright, let’s ease off her love life before we turn her into an alcoholic.”

“We’re so happy for you, Inquisitor,” Josie adds. “That’s it, last comment.”

“She is _very_ happy,” Cole smiles. “Solas makes her—”

“Cole,” I gasp, choking and coughing from my drink. “Please, lovely, sweet, _darling_ Cole.”

Blackwall laughs loudly, grinning at me. I groan again, taking another long drink.

“Alright, alright, let’s leave her alone,” Varric winks. “Who’s up for another round?” 

***

“And the dealer takes everything!” Josephine grins. “I win again.”

“Deal again,” Cullen says, leaning up on the table. “I’ve figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador.”

“Commander!” Josie scoffs. “Everyone knows a lady _has_ no tells.”

“Then let’s see if your good fortune lasts for one more hand.”

Cole moves his head back and forth between them, grinning. Bull is passed out on the floor, his arms thrown in different directions. Dorian and Cassandra snicker drunkenly back and forth, and Varric watches everything, wildly entertained.

“I’m tapped out,” I say, “but I have to see this.”

Cullen narrows his eyes at Josie, and she grins as she deals for the both of them.

***

“Don’t say a word, dwarf,” Cullen orders.

I bite on the tip of my thumb so hard it hurts. I grin around it, my stomach clenched with a laugh that threatens to burst out of me at any moment. I shake my head at Cullen as he sits across from me completely naked, all his armor piled on the table between him and Josie. When he ran out of money, we settled for strip Wicked Grace. His opponent sits beside me, fully clothed with an appropriately wicked grin across her face.

“I tried to warn you, Curly,” Varric laughs.

“_Never _bet against an Antivan, Commander,” Josie winks.

“I’m leaving,” Cass announces. “I don’t want to witness our commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks.”

“Well, I do,” Dorian grins, flicking an eyebrow up.

“It comes off,” Cole says in amazement. “I didn’t know it came off!”

I laugh loudly, the sound suddenly and finally bursting out of me. Cullen glares at me, and I hold up my hands. “Sorry, I’m sorry, Commander, very sorry.”

Josie and Varric get up, and the others follow. I raise a playful eyebrow at Cullen, and he gives me an almost pleading look.

I laugh again and roll my eyes, standing up. I turn away, walking to the others, and I smirk when I hear his bare feet hit the ground hard as he runs from the room. I'd give anything to see the guards' reactions to their commander streaking through the courtyard. 

I find Varric at the fire, standing beside him sleepily.

“I’m glad you decided to join us tonight,” he murmurs. “It’s too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor.”

I laugh. “This was—a perfect way to spend the evening. Watching Cullen lose all his money _and _clothes will be a fond memory."

Varric’s laugh bursts out of him. “I know just what you mean. It’s easy to forget you’re not just an icon or a symbol, like those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire. At least, it is for me,” he shrugs. “You up for another game when this is all over, Inquisitor?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I grin.

“Good! It’ll take me a while to talk Cullen into it. Mm…maybe I’ll work the revenge angle.”

I laugh again, and then sigh. “We’re all going to be miserable in the morning.”

“It was worth it. If we hurry, we might get two full hours in before we march.”

I groan and then smile down at Varric. “I’m glad we did this. Thank you, Varric.”

“Oh, stop it, you’ll make me blush,” he says before offering a grin. “Thanks, Snow.”

I pat his shoulder with a broad smile, and then I make my way wearily out of the tavern. The courtyard and main hall are both eerily quiet, everyone sleeping but the guards. I make my way upstairs, regretting how many flights there are. I soften my steps as I get closer to the top. I tiptoe up the last few stairs, glancing over the railing. Warmth floods my chest when I see Solas.

He’s asleep in bed, a book open against his chest.

I grin so wide it hurts as I move onto the bed. I ease the book off his chest, closing it and setting it on the bedside table. I wave out the candles and undress as quietly as I can, slipping under the covers as gently as possible.

Which apparently isn’t gently enough.

Solas stirs. “Mm…vhenan?”

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hums again, wrapping me in his arms. He pulls me to him tiredly, his thumb arcing across my skin. “How was it?”

“It was really fun,” I grin. “I’m exhausted…will you wake me if I oversleep?”

He nods, confirming it was a breathy, “Of course, vhenan.”

“Ar lath ma,” I murmur, hugging his waist.

His grip on me tightens. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he replies softly.

I relax against his chest, closing my eyes and breathing out slowly. I don’t have time to say anything else before I pass out.


	51. We March as One

We travel for days to the Arbor Wilds, and when we reach the outer edges, the journey only gets harder and slower. Morrigan was right about everything she said; by the time we reach the Inquisition camp, I am fully turned around, hot, irritable, and ready for this to all be over. I want to travel with Solas and everyone, but I spend most of my time ahead with Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Morrigan discussing strategy.

This morning, however, we arrived at the Inquisition forwarding camp to find the jungle in disarray. Even from here, I can hear the clear sounds of fighting. The forest carries the clash of swords and the victory cries of men—ours or theirs, I can’t be sure. The Wilds distort the sounds of battle until they appear to be coming at us from all directions. Vibrant birds of reds and greens and blues hide in the trees, parroting the sounds they hear and confusing me further. Other birds, black and grey, scream through the branches, their sounds startling and unnerving me.

Shortly after we arrive, I head into my tent to quickly change. I pull on my Dalish mage robes and boots. I stare at my lyrium glove for a moment, flexing my hand. I’ve still felt no pain, but part of me is wary and suspicious, and I fear that it may not last forever. I check my staff, running my fingers over the crystal at the tip and the blade at the end to make sure I’m ready to go. When I emerge, I see the others standing nearby, fastening their armor or checking their own weapons—all but Solas. He holds onto his staff, watching the trees with a careful, almost neutral expression. I can read him well enough to recognize wariness as well as a large degree of solemnity.

“Inquisitor!” someone calls, arriving at me swiftly. The soldier greets me with a quick bow.

“How goes the battle, Captain?” I ask, walking with her.

“The red templars fall beneath our blades, Your Worship,” she answers. “Commander Cullen says they’re nearly finished. He and Sister Leliana have joined the others in the field. Our scouts saw Corypheus traveling toward an elven ruin to the north. We can clear you a path through his armies.”

“Do only what you must, Captain,” I reply. “We need enough people to celebrate when we get back to Skyhold.”

“We will not fail you, my lady. No matter what comes.” She crosses her arm over her chest respectfully, bowing. “Andraste guide you, Inquisitor.”

I turn around to see Morrigan watching me, her eyebrow quirking. “I wonder,” she muses, “is it Andraste your soldiers invoke during battle, or does a more immediate name come to their lips?”

I cringe. “Fen’Harel, that is…an alarming prospect. I’m…_pretty _sure I’m not a god…last I checked…”

“You are far more likely to come to their aid than a Chantry fable…but I digress. If your scouts report accurately, I believe these ruins to the be the Temple of Mythal.”

I freeze, my breath falling from me. “R…really?” I whisper.

Morrigan nods. “If Corypheus seeks it, then the eluvian he covets lies within.”

An explosion goes off somewhere in the forest, shaking the ground beneath our feet.

Morrigan scowls. “Let us hope we reach this temple _before _the entire forest is reduced to ash.”

A group of chevaliers runs past us, their armor jostling loudly as they head into the trees behind a group Inquisition scouts. In the distance, echoed through the trees, I hear the organized chant of our soldiers as they march. It reminds me of the battle at Adamant, as well as everything that happened after. I steel myself against the influx of memories, focusing on the here and now, but a thrill of fear runs through me. I won't lose anyone else. 

Another round of explosions jolts several bands of chevaliers into action, and I look up sharply, pulled from my reverie. 

I wave Cass, Varric, Cole, and Solas over to us. I pull my hair over my shoulder to quickly braid it and then throw it over my shoulder.

“Ready, Snow?” Varric mumbles.

“Yep,” I say with false confidence.

“Listen to how close the fighting’s gotten,” Cass says, shaking her head. “It will be worse ahead.”

“If the soldiers aren’t careful with their fire, they’ll do Corypheus’ work for him,” Solas adds irritably.

Morrigan hums in agreement, looking at me as we walk. “Do you sense the magic crackling?” she asks softly. “Something more powerful than the red templars stirs...”

I glance up at the trees as we leave the forward camp. I do feel it hum in the air—I’ve sensed it since we first set foot in the Wilds. It brushes against my skin, tickling and pulling at the Anchor gently. I look at Solas, and he returns my gaze neutrally, but I realize after a second that he’s composing his true thoughts. Something unreadable hides within his eyes, some dark, quiet thought I don’t know how to read. It worries me, putting me more on edge than I already am. 

A chevalier waves me down as we reach the outskirts of the camp. “Inquisitor! Empress Celene’s general is just down the hill. He’ll be joining your men as we make our last push.”

“Thank you,” I call, nodding formally as I walk more briskly.

We step through the barricades and into the forest. Against a large stone cliff ahead, I see a massive, elven statue pointing the way—I realize with a quiet ache that it’s the same design as those in the Crossroads. The history of my people lies in this jungle, and each explosion in the distance tightens that ache inside me, weakening that part of my mind even as I try to quieten it.

We head into a cave-like tunnel that cuts through a large hill, and I speed up to a jog as we head downhill. The sounds of fighting grow closer, and when we reach the bottom of the hill, I see the general’s chevaliers fighting a band of red templars.

“Hail the Inquisitor!” the general shouts, leading a forward charge.

I stop short of the battlefield, whipping my staff around quickly. I slam it to the ground as Cass and Cole rush forward, and I freeze four of the templars in place before their strikes can land. I throw up a quick shield around Cass and Cole. Solas switches with me, maintaining it flawlessly while I hurl several small fireballs simultaneously. They burst from me, flying across the field to their targets. I raise my staff to the sky, murmuring quickly before I hit the ground again with the blade. Bolts of lightning rush through the thick branches overhead and slam into several templars with audible claps. Morrigan conjures a spirit bear behind me, and it charges forward, shaking the ground with magical energy. It sprints and launches itself into a corrupted red templar. The bear hits him like a boulder, knocking him flat to the ground, and he doesn’t rise again.

Walls glimmer around the field as Solas expands the shields, and Varric stands beside me, Bianca working overtime today.

“Her Imperial Majesty Empress Celene stands with you!” the general shouts when the fighting lightens. “Clear the Inquisitor a path!” he adds. “Go, Inquisitor! We can handle the rest!”

I nod, waving to the others. I run down into the battle, moving through the fighting swiftly and back into the forest. My lungs ache in complaint the further we go, but I don’t let up. Soldiers lives depend on how quickly we can get to the temple—_my _soldiers.

“We’ll hold!” the general shouts again, rallying his men. “We will hold!” The rest bursts from him in Orlesian, and his men roar like the lions they are.

Sweat beads and drips down my temples, stinging my eyes. I reach up to wipe it away swiftly as we arrive at a waterfall. Inquisition agents fight with red templars everywhere, the battle spreading into the waves of the river and across to the other side.

“We must keep moving,” Cass shouts. “They’ll hold for us, but we must reach the eluvian before Corypheus.”

“She’s right,” Morrigan agrees. “We waste time if we stop at every fight we cross.”

I sigh, glancing at our men before I take off again. A group of silver-armored mages fight in our path, demons flanking them, and I grimace when I recognize their particular brand of corruption. I throw a fireball at them, and Cass and Cole quickly take care of the rest while we run through.

“Grey Wardens,” I gasp, jogging ahead. “They must—be the last—of those enslaved—at Adamant.”

“If they are forced to obey,” Cass replies, “death will be a blessing.”

I grimace at that, too. My thighs burn as we move uphill again, and I glance over to see Cass taking it in stride. Of course she is. Warrior.

I gasp for air, pulling at the collar of my robes, but I don’t slow down.

An explosion suddenly goes off inches before me, and I recoil in shock at the deafening sound, falling to the ground. I blink, unsure why I’m not scattered in a hundred different places, and I open my eyes to see the fire lick angrily up a glimmering wall. I look back at Solas to see him breathlessly maintaining it.

“Thank you,” I pant, standing again quickly.

“To the Inquisitor!” someone shouts, and a dozen of our soldiers pour out of the trees. “Are you alright, Your Worship? The red templars have this place wired!”

“Yes!” I call, waving them forward. “I’m sorry! Be careful!”

“Maker guide you, Inquisitor!”

“A-and you!” I call, frowning at myself. _Mythal _guide you, but okay, same…same thing, I guess…?

“Are you alright, vhenan?” Solas breathes, moving a hand to my back as he drops the barrier.

“Yes, thank you, sorry,” I wheeze, gripping a stitch in my side.

“Please be careful, Inquisitor,” Cass says.

“Yep, no more running into bombs—got it—check for tripwires—that is _my bad_, everyone…” I smile hesitantly and then run forward again, paying more attention to the forest floor now. We reach the riverbed down a hill to see another battle, steel clashing against steel.

“We have them on the run, Your Worship!” one of our men calls. “Keep going!”

“Good work!” I shout back, moving across the river as quickly as I can. I gasp when the cold water rushes up past my thighs, but I don’t slow down. At least it’s some relief from the muggy weather.

I lead the others through the trees again to see a blaze of red tents.

“There, ahead!” Morrigan shouts. “An entire camp of red templars. We’ve arrived here first, it seems.”

“We should take them out!” Cass calls, charging forward. “Watch for archers on the wall,” she adds, grunting as she thrusts her shield up to catch a flurry of arrows.

Cole runs with her, and I turn my attention to the walls where several archers wait. They pull their bowstrings back, and I call loudly, forcing up a steep wall of fire around them. Their arrows jerk up in surprise, flying into the trees far above before they turn on me. Several of them fall to the flames, but those who don’t launch their arrows at me. I catch them in midair and cast them aside, hearing them land in the tree trunks beside me.

I thrust a hand out near the tents, lighting them on fire quickly before I slam my staff to the ground. Lightning strikes the men on the walls, finishing them off. I don’t have a second to appreciate that small victory before another group of warriors rushes through the trees. I glance up to fight them, but my eyes widen at a flash of gold, ancient armor, and I hesitate. Their hoods are pulled up over their heads, but I catch a flash of vallaslin.

“It’s the elves again!” one of the templars exclaims, retreating. The elves rush into the battle, clashing against the red templars. At first I think they’re here to help up, but then an arrow whips towards me, and I only barely manage to dodge it in time.

“Hold!” Solas calls to them. “We are not your enemy!”

They shout something back in elven that is far too quick, far too old for me to interpret so briskly.

“Wait!” I shriek, holding my hand up to Cass when she goes to stab one. “Stop!” One of them lunges at me, and I catch his daggers with my staff. “We aren’t here for you!” His armor glints gold in the sun, blinding—it’s ancient, unlike any Dalish armor I’ve ever seen. “Please!” I implore, dodging his daggers again as he glares at me from under his hood. I back up, holding one of my hands up pleadingly.

“Inquisitor, we must fight them!” Cass calls, backing up as she blocks three attacks.

“No!” I shout. “Please,” I add, crying out when one of his blades catches against my stomach shallowly. I fall back, raising my staff when his daggers come down again mercilessly. “I don’t want to fight you! We aren’t—” He cuts me off, kicking my staff away swiftly. I hold up my hands, my fingers shaking. I refuse to kill my own people when they only defend their land. The elf looks at my hands, frowning as he narrows his eyes, hesitating. He looks aside to the others and then goes to stab me.

Solas urgently shouts something at them in elven too quick for me to understand. The one attacking me stops, glancing at Solas. He looks at me again and then at his own men, shouting something. As quickly as they came upon us, they disappear into the trees.

I pant, leaning back against the grass in relief. I raise my hand to my stomach, murmuring a few words quickly to heal the wound. My fingers come away bloodier than I’d hoped, and I sigh out, panting.

“Vhenan?” Solas calls, jogging over to me. He takes my bloody hand, searching my stomach anxiously. 

“I’m alright,” I gasp, sitting up.

“Were we just attacked by elves?” Varric demands.

“It seems this Temple of Mythal is not deserted after all,” Solas replies, his expression quietly surprised as he helps me up.

I reach back down for my staff.

“Perhaps these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds,” Morrigan muses casually.

“We need to keep moving,” I say. “I hope we don’t cross more.”

“We may yet, Inquisitor, and you will need to give the order to kill them.”

“No,” I say firmly, shaking my head.

Morrigan turns on me. “_They _attack _us_. Do not be so blind as to assume that your vallaslin provides you some—”

“We are not coming into _their _Wilds and slaughtering them on sight. That makes us no better than Corypheus and his templars. _No one _kills them,” I command firmly.

“Yes,” Solas nods in agreement, resting a hand against my back.

“Alright, Snow,” Varric sighs. “We’ll play nice.”

“They are protecting,” Cole murmurs.

“Let’s get moving,” Cass says.

I duck my head in a nod and jog forward again through the flaming red templar tents. I stop when we come to another riverbed. Several dead elves are scattered throughout, and I don’t know how to properly describe the grief that wells in me as such a waste of life.

“We must keep moving, Inquisitor,” Morrigan says firmly. “We cannot stop for every dead elf or soldier along the way. There will be hundreds—millions more if we allow Corypheus to find the eluvian before us.”

I nod, running forward again. We pass a group of mages and chevaliers fighting back-to-back against the red templars and Venatori. Several of them shout for us to push on, and I run around the battle swiftly.

It feels like hours we spend running through the forest dodging enemy fire, tripwires, and venomous plants. The only thing we don’t encounter a second time is the elves, but I hear them in the woods and feel their eyes on us as we charge forward.

We break through the trees to a large area, crumbling ruins surrounding the field. Dozens of soldiers fight here as dozens more litter the ground. I’m relieved to see the red templars and Venatori outweigh our own deaths, though every Inquisition sigil I see or chevalier lion gives me pause, even as I try to harden myself to the realities of war.

“Good hunting, Inquisitor!” Leliana shouts, spotting us from the top of an archway. She releases arrows without pause, glancing down at us. “We are keeping them at bay! Follow the river to the temple!”

“Are you alright?” I shout as I run past her.

“We’re fine! Keep going!”

We pass through the field swiftly, but I falter, tripping once when I see a large, wolf statue standing proudly against a smattering of fallen ruins. Wild confusion rushes through me, but I don’t have time to consider the implications as I pick up my speed again. Sweat clings to me unforgivingly as the humidity suffocates me, and I pull at my robes once more in a vain effort to make it easier to breathe. I pant, wheezing a little as my vision stings from the salt of my sweat. My legs burn and my lungs ache, but I don’t dare stop for a moment, all too aware of our soldiers fighting tirelessly.

We reach the end of the river, and I slosh through it, tripping only once to reach the other side. My eyes widen when I see the high temple walls ahead, and I wish more than anything that I had time to appreciate its grandeur—the first piece of my people’s history I’ve ever seen.

In the shallow riverbed, I see Cullen and all his best fighting dozens of red templars. Near him, Blackwall and Sera fight back to back, and I see Bull and his Chargers wreaking havoc on the Venatori.

“Press on, Inquisitor!” Cullen shouts in his lion armor. “We’ll hold them off!”

“Please be careful!” I call back breathlessly, rushing up a flight of stairs adorned with twin dragon statues. I pant, pulling to a jolting stop before the outer doors. Alongside them, I see two wolf statues, and confusion floods me once again. I wipe my forehead, glancing back at Cullen and the others as they fight fearlessly. My heart pounds erratically inside my chest, and I gasp for air, pressing my hand to the golden door. The realization of what I’m about to do, of the sacred halls I’m about to walk through, rushes through me staggeringly, and I take a steadying breath. I offer a silent prayer to Mythal, closing my eyes briefly before I slowly push open the heavy, gilded door.


	52. What Pride Had Wrought

We walk into a large, elegantly carved corridor, its long hall stretching away from us for hundreds of feet. The arched walls continue until they break free far at the end, a small gleam of light indicating the inner courtyard.

“This must be the Temple of Mythal,” I gasp, admiring the gold mosaic floor beneath my feet and the golden bricked walls beside me. Another pair of dragon statuettes adorn the walls beside the massive doors behind us, their heads bowed in regal grace. 

“Be ready, vhenan,” Solas urges softly. “Corypheus will be here.”

“I hear fighting ahead!” Morrigan calls suddenly.

I start running again, wheezing as I push myself harder. We reach the end of the long corridor, and I stop, staring in wonder at the inner courtyard. Birds fly overhead, and the trees bend beautifully over the walls, their branches shading us from sun. I walk forward slowly, admiring the pair of dragon statues adorning the path, their heads bent reverently. Off to one side, a large stone wall reveals a powerful statue—I recognize it immediately as Mythal. Her crown rises high on her head, three large points adoring the circlet. Her dragon’s wings expand out thickly from her back, arched as if in flight as she stands.

As I continue, I see the floor defiled by the blood and bodies of red templars and Venatori. I edge closer to the balcony, staying low as the others join me. Whatever fighting was happening is over now, clearly.

I see ahead Corypheus’ general—the man Cullen told me was called Samson. He and several dozen red templars stand at the foot of the balcony below us, watching ahead. I look up, my lips parting when I see ten elves, their hoods pulled over their heads as they line a long bridge across the river to the temple.

“Na melana sur, banallen!” the first elf shouts, his voice scathing as he glares at the templars. I hear the words, and I feel the rhythm of our language hum in my veins and tickle against my skin like magic, but I realize, with shame, that I don’t understand his meaning.

“They still think to fight us, Master,” Samson scoffs, a smirk in his voice.

I jerk back a little when I see Corypheus emerge, striding out from under the balcony I stand on. Everything in me tenses in fear, and I reach forward to grip the stone railing, remembering all too clearly the last time we met. 

_These are by remnants_. His voice curls through my blood and mind, making my heart beat faster. Beside me, Cole raises his hands to his ears, rocking back and forth. _They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows._

“Well of Sorrows?” Morrigan repeats with a whisper.

I glance at her as she watches in confusion.

Corypheus moves forward again. As he nears the bridge, the twin dragon statues flare with a brilliant and powerful blue magic. The elves step backwards further onto the bridge, watching Corypheus. They look wary but not worried. He looks up at the statues and their magic.

_Be honored. Witness death at the hands of a new god. _

Corypheus steps forward, one leg crossing over onto the bridge. As soon as his foot lands, the dragon statues flare even more brilliantly. Blue and yellow tendrils of magic strike Corypheus like electricity. He seizes, and I stare in shock as he throws his head back, his mouth open in a silent shout. He growls, staggering forward to grab the elf in front of him. I watch in horror as the elf screams, magical energy surging through him. Both Corypheus and the elf disintegrate, their skin melting off their bones as blood pools beneath them. Finally, the magic holding them in place bursts outward, and the resulting explosion knocks us all back. I land on Solas and Varric, scrambling to my feet as soon as I regain movability. I stare at the bridge in horror to see that they’re dead—all the elves are dead. The dragon statues are gone, thick chunks of stone blown into the water below. I jump over the edge of the balcony, jogging forward several steps to see the destruction. A few red templars were caught in the blast, and a couple Grey Wardens, but all that remains of Corypheus is a scorch mark. I feel a helpless agony in me, because I need to _know _he’s gone, to see it for myself, but there’s nothing left. Logically, he couldn’t have survived the blast, but even as I realize the fact, I also know that he is more than what he seems.

The mist from the explosion clears over the bridge, and I see Samson and his red templars charging into the temple—into _my _people’s temple. He turns and glances at us, smirking across the long distance as he slams the door closed and disappears.

Something grunts and groans behind me, and I whip around to see a Grey Warden body jerk and writhe on its knees. It suddenly screams, jerking upright. Black blood gushes from its mouth, streaming down its neck and torso before the body collapses again, folding in on itself until it's a malformed red and black mass on the ground.

I watch in horror again as it twitches, slowly regaining shape.

“It cannot be!” Morrigan exclaims, her eyes wide.

A hand jerks out of the mess, long, thin fingers scratching against the stone as the puddle of skin and bone shudders and recoils, slowly recovering a bloodied and brutalized body.

“Across the bridge!” I shout hoarsely. “Now!”

I grab Solas’ hand, pushing him in front of me, and then we’re all running across the bridge. I glance back to see Corypheus pull half of himself from the muck, an ungodly screech emanating from his lungs as he slowly, seemingly painfully reforms.

Suddenly, his dragon swoops over the temple, wings battle against the trees loudly.

We burst through the doors at the end of the bridge, and it takes all of us pushing against them to close them back. I glance out to see the dragon flying across the bridge at us, and I shout wordlessly, pushing harder. Fire bursts through a crack in the door, and Varric cries out as the doors finally slam shut. The force from the dragon landing outside knocks us all back, and I scramble on my knees over to Varric as he holds his arm, his eyes squeezed shut from the pain. I take his hand quickly, my eyes widening at the blistering, scorching burns lacing up his forearm. I murmur a long chain of words, feeling Solas’ magic blend with mine. As I work, I see the door flare brilliantly as gold and blue lines magically race across the cracks, sealing us in—for now. Slowly, Varric’s arm heals, the burns fading away until his tattered glove and sleeve are all that remain of the incident.

“Thanks, Snow,” he gasps, sitting up and flexing his fingers. He pulls the glove off, breathing out a sigh of relief.

“What—_was _that?” I pant, looking around at the others. “I—he _died_!”

“He died when Hawke and I fought him, too,” Varric sighs. “I guess we know why he wanted the Grey Wardens.”

“Why?” I breathe.

“They have the Blight in them, right?”

“Yes,” Morrigan nods. “An Old God’s soul is transferred to the closest available darkspawn if killed. That is why only a Grey Warden can kill the Archdemon.”

“Then Corypheus cannot die,” Solas says, his voice quiet but alarmed. “Destroy his body, and he will assume another.”

“But—he—he’s not an Old God!” I argue, looking at someone to back that up.

“He must have determined some way of gaining that power, then,” Morrigan shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter. “We will either find a way to kill him or we will not, but that is not the most pressing issue at this moment. Corypheus knocks outside this very door, and we have only a short time to find that which he seeks.”

Cassandra glares at her. “_You _said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he mentioned this ‘Well of Sorrows,’ so which is right?”

“I…am uncertain of what he referred to,” Morrigan admits reluctantly.

“Could they be the same thing?” Varric wonders. “Does ‘eluvian’ translate to ‘Well of Sorrows’?”

I shake my head along with Solas and Morrigan.

“No,” she says aloud. “It seems an eluvian is _not _the prize Corypheus seeks.”

I sigh irritably, frowning at her.

“Yes!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up. “I was wrong, does that _please _you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp. Our goal has not changed, lest you all forget.”

I sigh again, stepping forward. “Guess we’d better start…looking.”

“Don’t suppose they’d’ve left a ‘Well of Sorrows this way’ sign lying around?” Varric mumbles. “No? Right…that’d be…too easy.”

I move into the outer vestibule of the temple, blinking in the sunlight.

“It’s…beautiful,” I murmur, looking around. Archways lift high into the temple, statues adorning the walls in honor of Mythal, her symbol present throughout. “Solas—” I glance at him, hesitating when I see his expression hollow as he looks around the fallen temple. I turn back to the gilded stone, swallowing at the mix of pride and sadness, awe and grief. A remnant of what we used to be, a reminder of what we have become.

I walk forward slowly, freezing when a panel of the stone beneath me shifts. The floor around my feet glows blue through the decorative tile. Morrigan steps beside me, cocking her head.

“It appears the temple’s magicks are still strong,” she muses.

I move forward a little to a large stone tablet in the middle of the floor. It’s elven, that much I know for sure, but I feel staggeringly ashamed when I realize I can’t read it. It looks similar to Solas’ writings, and I feel heavy at another part of my heritage lost to me.

“This is elven,” I murmur quietly, looking down. “But, I…I can’t—read it. Solas…can you…”

Solas places a hand on my back, his fingers soothing me somewhat as he steps forward to read it. “‘Atish’all Vir Abelasan.’ It means, ‘enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.’”

Morrigan nods in agreement. “There is something about knowledge…respectful or pure. Shiven…shivennen…” She hesitates, and I feel another well of humiliation wash through me. I look down and away, ashamed, and Solas moves his hand to my shoulder as if reading my mind. My own language, and I can’t even read it, but a human can. “’Tis all I can translate,” Morrigan sighs. “That it mentions the Well is a good omen.”

I nod silently in agreement.

“Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry. This floor, here—see how it winds around the column, different from the rest of the tile? Perhaps you should follow it.”

She and Solas move off the platform, and I swallow hard against the tightness in my throat and chest.

“Perform a ritual to appeal to elven gods?” Cassandra mumbles. “Long-dead or no, I don’t like it.”

I turn to glare at her, and she drops her eyes.

“My apologies, Inquisitor.”

“We will perform these rituals as need be,” Morrigan shrugs. “Unless you wish to turn back?”

Cassandra grimaces.

I follow the path slowly. The tiles beneath me glow gold in my wake, each new step flaring a beautiful blue. Magic hums thickly in the air, ringing softly in my ears and caressing my skin as I follow the steps, careful not to cross one stone more than once. Its beauty overwhelms me, and I smile softly, feeling a rush of something akin to pride, pleased that I can perform this small ritual in honor of my people and my gods.

“There,” I whisper when the stones offer a louder hum. I hear something shift in the door several flights of stairs above us.

“Well done,” Morrigan nods, eyeing the door. “Let us see what awaits.”

“So…let me get this straight,” Cassandra says. “This Mythal that the Inquisitor always invokes…she was a goddess?”

Morrigan answers before I can, and I roll my tongue across my tongue across my teeth, frowning at the steps as I climb them. “So one assumes,” she says, a shrug in her voice. “What is a god but a being of immense power? The dread Old Gods were nothing more than dragons, after all. They rise as Archdemons, and they die. Perhaps Mythal was a powerful elf, a ruler among her kind. History often plays storyteller with facts.”

“You admit lack of knowledge,” Solas says, his voice low but angry, “and yet dismiss her so readily?” His irritation surprises me, and I glance at him. I didn't think he believed in the gods. 

“I do not dismiss her,” Morrigan fires back sharply. “I question her _supposed _divinity. One need not be a god to have value. Truthfully, I am uncertain Mythal was even a single entity. The accounts are…varied.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, turning to face her.

Morrigan chuckles, amused. “_You _do not know?”

Humiliation swoops through me again, and I turn back, mounting the stairs again.

“In most stories,” Morrigan answers, “Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. ‘Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of the sun and earth alike.’ Others paint her as dark, vengeful. Pray to Mythal, and she would smite your enemies, leaving them in agony.”

“More Dalish tales, I assume?” Solas mutters bitterly.

“No,” I snap, turning my sting at the comment towards Morrigan. “That’s _absurd. _Mythal is the All-Mother, the Great Protector. How _dare _you presume to suggest she was—”

“You asked me a question, and I answered it,” Morrigan says, cutting me off. “The accounts are _varied_. I did not suggest I believed one over the other.”

I swallow thickly, glancing at Solas. “What…what do you know of her, Solas?” I ask more softly.

He looks at me, his eyes unbearably sad before he composes the reaction. “The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the Mother, protective and fierce. That is all I will say…This is not a place to stir up old stories.”

I nod quietly, looking down.

“Whatever the truth,” Morrigan replies, “all accounts of Mythal _end _the same: exiled to the Beyond with her brethren.”

“Your gods were exiled, Snow?” Varric murmurs. “By…_what_? Who _exiles _gods?”

“They were tricked by the Dread Wolf,” Morrigan replies too quickly again, “so the stories say. The elven gods and the Forgotten Ones were sealed into their respective realms, trapped in a land beyond the Fade. Many Dalish believe this is why the elves fell from grace and their gods did not save them. Or perhaps they were simply rulers slain by Tevinter. Who can say?”

“If you would speak of the gods, would you not do it so dismissively?” I demand.

“Shall I fall on my knees in grief and weep for the lost history of a fallen empire?” Morrigan returns. “I speak of stories I have heard, for that is what they are.”

“They’re not _stories_!” I exclaim. “They’re—”

“We are not here to debate philosophy or religion, Inquisitor,” Morrigan interrupts again. “We are here to stop a madman drunk on power from reaching his goal. Now, we can stand here and argue about whether _you _or _I _know more of ‘your’ history, or we can face facts that _I _have done more research than you and am therefore more equipped to answer that which you cannot hope to understand yourself.”

My eyes flood in humiliation, and I look away sharply, climbing the stairs more quickly. Beside me, Solas looks at me, and I turn my head away, but I know he sees my tears when they fall.

I glare at myself, swiftly and discreetly raising a hand to my cheeks to brush them away.

We reach the upper platform near the large, ornate pair of doors we unlocked with the ritual. Venatori bodies defile this place, too, their blood seeping into the stone and tile.

“Mm,” Morrigan hums, “I see they’ve already encountered the temple’s guardians.”

“A just death for these mages,” Cassandra sighs, “but where are their killers?”

“Preparing another display of hospitality, no doubt.” Morrigan offers her own sigh. “The Temple of Mythal was constructed at an age where elves, not men, dominated this land. They believed Mythal a goddess of justice. Elves came here to request judgement, after they proved their worth.”

“Silence has reigned here for time beyond memory,” Solas says softly.

“Wait, what’s this?” Morrigan says. I glance back to see her moving away from the stone doors. We follow her to an open room, arriving before another wolf statue. My eyes widen when I see the plaque. I can read enough to see who it is dedicated to, and my lips part in shock. “Why would _this _be here?” Morrigan wonders curtly.

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Varric asks.

“It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel,” Morrigan answers quickly. “In elven tales, as I said, ‘twas _he _who tricked the gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time.” She shakes her head. “Setting a _Fen’Harel _statue in _Mythal’s _greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste _naked _in the Chantry.”

Solas casts a disdainful glance at her. “For all your ‘knowledge,’ Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history,” he says derisively. “The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

Morrigan glares at him, crossing her arms. “Pray tell, what meaning does our elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?”

“None we can discern by staring at it,” he replies quickly.

“Snow?” Varric says.

“What?” I murmur, glancing away from the statue to face the rest of them.

“Thoughts?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug.

Cassandra frowns. “You use his name as a curse all the time. Surely you have some opinion of his statue in your goddess’ shrine.”

I scoff quietly. “I—say it i-in the same way you might say ‘crap,’ not because I actually think he’s some crazy villain.”

“Oh?” Morrigan hums, moving her hands to her hips in a challenge. “You are _Dalish_, are you not? I thought all Dalish feared the Dread Wolf? I assumed you all thought invoking his name would ‘bring his wrath upon you’?”

I glare at her. “You must not have met many Dalish then.”

“On the contrary, I’ve found your people to be a superstitious group who have all the makings of a Chantry cloister with less than half the awareness or acknowledgement of their actual history.”

I stare at her, my lips parting to speak, but it takes me a long moment to find my words. I feel everyone watching me when my eyes flood again. This time, I force myself to not look away. Solas takes half a step closer to me, hesitating when I breathe out sharply. “Why…” I breathe, clearing my throat to make my voice harder as I cross my arms. “Why are you being so _cruel_ to me? Do you think this does not _sadden _me? I’m standing in a temple devoted to my goddess only to hear you disparage and disregard her as if she were some Chasind fairytale. I can’t even _read _my own _language_,” I add, gesturing wildly at the stone below us, “and you’ve done nothing but prove to us all that you know so much more about my people’s history. Do you think this is…_easy _for me?” I demand, my voice growing both stronger and weaker at the same time. “Do you think it’s easy for me to hear you explain my religion, my beliefs, my _faith _so offhandedly and then to accuse me of possessing thoughts I do not just so you can prove your own superiority over me? No, alright, not that it matters _at all_, but I _don’t _believe Fen’Harel was the villain he’s portrayed as being—my clan, for…better or worse, tries to—_t-tried _to remember history, and we viewed him as only a rebel god.” I drop my arms, feeling naked as I breathe out heavily. “I get you’re knowledgeable and powerful, Morrigan, but this is…_my _people’s history you discuss so indifferently, and I know…_nothing_ of it,” I say, my voice climbing as emotion whips through me. I clench jaw, fighting to regain control. “I’m just beginning to realize that growing up Dalish did very little to offer me the guidance or understanding I thought it had, so could you just _back off_, and let me _process _what I’m seeing here?”

I breathe quickly, my heart pounding in my chest from the outburst. Morrigan watches me, as they all do, her expression blank. “My apologies for offending you, Inquisitor,” she offers, though I doubt her sincerity. “’Twas not my intention.”

“No,” I muse, “you just thought it amusing to poke fun at the Dalish who knows nothing of her people.”

“Vhenan,” Solas murmurs, his voice heavy with sadness as he steps to me, “you—”

“We’re wasting time,” I say curtly, turning around. Guilt floods me, and I look back at him apologetically. His eyes burn with a sorrow I can’t afford to see right now, so I look away again, moving back through the room to the doors.

I press against the gold-lined stone, opening it respectfully. Regardless of my anger and grief, this is a holy place, and I would not see it dishonored more that it already has been. I step into a darkened hall, Solas right beside me. Ahead, another large, intricately designed door waits, and I step to it, opening it with the same care.

As soon as I walk into the courtyard, an explosion rocks through the temple, its force knocking my back a step. I look up sharply to see the hole Samson and his men blew through the floor a hundred feet from us. The blasphemy itself burns through me with helpless grief, but the gall and the arrogance of the action enrages me.

“Hold them off!” Samson shouts, waving a few of his red templars at us. He hops down the hole with the rest of his men.

I release a furious shout, thrusting forward a large, thick wall of fire. As it travels towards the templars, I let loose several orbs of electricity, directing them angrily at their targets. Those hit by fire stagger back, crying out, and those stunned with electricity fall to the ground, giving Cass and Cole plenty of room. A large spider rushes past me, and I jerk to the side before I realize Morrigan conjured it. Shudders rake down my body when it kicks off the ground, crawling and winding around one of the templars. He screams in terror, and I force myself to look away as I continue the fight. I whirl my staff around, slamming it to the ground hard enough to freeze three men in mid-swing. Two more fly back from the force of the spell, and Cass and Cole make short work of them.

“Come on,” Cassandra calls, jogging forward. “Maybe we can catch them.”

Morrigan rushes ahead of her towards the crevasse, throwing her arms out. “Hold a moment!” She looks at me. “While they rush ahead, _this_—” she says, pointing to a pair of doors behind us. “—leads to our _true_ destination. We should walk the petitioner’s path, as before.”

Solas sighs. “In _this _case, I must agree with the witch. This is ancient ground,” he adds, looking at me imploringly, “deserving of our respect.”

I nod in agreement.

Cole shifts his weight anxiously. “People are dying outside while we stand here. If we use the tunnel, more of our soldiers can flee.”

Morrigan sighs. “You see the urgency,” she says to me. “We _cannot _find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.”

“None of you knows what lies beyond those doors,” Cassandra interjects. “They might have had a reason for going another way.”

“Had they the option, they _would _have proceeded; they did not blow the _outer _door to reach the temple. Our efforts forced their hand. _That_ must lead to their goal,” she says, pointing at the doors again.

“Their goal?” I repeat. “Or yours?”

Morrigan levels her gaze at me and then gestures to the side with her arm. I glance at the others before following her privately. “There is…a danger to the natural order,” she murmurs. “Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing has left us all the lesser. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well.” She looks at me sincerely, her eyes tight. “_I _would have it restored.”

“You—” I blink rapidly. “You want the Well? I-It’s an ancient _elven_ art—”

“Let me stop you there, Inquisitor. I understand your position perfectly, and I _do _apologize for my behavior earlier. I have been known to be…let us say…_superior_, but ‘twas not my intention to shame or humiliate you, and I can sympathize with how shocking this all must be to you. I know another person of lesser character would disregard me entirely, but I know _you _are not so ignorant of those you dislike, so hear this, Inquisitor: Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand—elves, dragons, magic…the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true.” She glances behind me at the others, hesitating before she continues. “I read more in the first chamber than I revealed,” she murmurs quietly. “It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows…but at a terrible price.”

“What…does that mean?” I wonder quietly.

“Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague—not an insult; merely a fact. The term I deciphered was _halam’shivanas_—'the sweet sacrifice of duty.' It implies the loss of something personal for duty’s sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade.”

“Why didn’t you say so when you read it?”

“I hoped to find more information,” she replies almost impatiently. “If I intended to cheat you, I would have feigned ignorance entirely. _My _priority _is _your cause, but _if _the opportunity arises to save this Well, I am willing to pay the cost.”

“And gain _what_? You don’t even _understand _what you’re dealing with. You don’t even know what might be asked of you.”

“This is what we must discover. The rituals may point the way.”

“What if this Well demands a sacrifice?”

She frowns. “It _will_—that is what I—”

“No, what if it demands some_one _be sacrificed, someone of import to you? You don’t even know what you’re—”

“My son is the only person of import to me, and I can confidently guarantee his safety. Everything else is negotiable.”

“What if something happened to you? What if you die—what about your son? Morrigan, think this through.”

“I have, Inquisitor. Kieran is…a strong lad. He will thrive, with or without me.”

“Are you certain of that?” 

She laughs once. “I am certain of precious little these days.”

I rub my temple. “I—I can’t decide this right now. We’ll see what happens, alright, Morrigan?”

“All I ask is that you keep an open mind, Inquisitor. You and I want the same thing here; do not let that be forgotten. Whatever else you may think of me, we share a common goal, a common enemy. The opportunity to use the Well may not even arise; I know this. All I meant to suggest is that _if _it does, _I _be the one do to so. I am willing to accept the consequences.”

“Morrigan,” I sigh, feeling my anger rise again. “This—this doesn’t _belong _to you—”

“And it belongs to you?”

“That’s not what I mean,” I snap angrily. “I’m saying this temple is clearly guarded, and it has remained secret for thousands and thousands of years. This Well belongs to _no one_ but those who created it.”

“And you would see the _last remnant _of a culture long thought dead _destroyed_?”

I run my tongue across my teeth. “I would not see it abused.”

Morrigan opens her mouth to argue, but then she sighs. “Inquisitor,” she says, her voice controlled, “it seems we have gotten started on the wrong foot, and it seems you have misunderstood me. I concede that the fault in that is mine. Know this: I have studied the ancient elves at length. I do not boast this or say it to wound your pride, but because it is true. I know more about them than anyone here, including, I suspect, your elven ‘expert,’ for I have studied and learned from places no one else could even _dream _of discovering. I do not ask to use the Well _lightly._ I understand more of its power and possibilities than you might imagine. It is dangerous, but it is also a piece of something thought forgotten. I would not see it destroyed or used for someone else’s gain, and I would not use it for my _own _power.”

“Then why do you _want _it so badly? An hour ago, you didn’t even know it existed.”

“All I know is this: Corypheus seeks it over the eluvians. You’ve seen their immense power; you’ve seen what they can do, and you understand the implications of what he could accomplish with them. Therefore, if he seeks something _more _than a key to anywhere in the world and the places in between, then it must be _very _valuable. While I do not know _precisely _what it is, I can guarantee its power based on that fact alone, and I also guarantee that it must be more important to the elven culture than any of us realizes. As I said, the opportunity may not even arise. All I ask is that _if_ it does, you allow me to make the sacrifice. I am not demanding or seizing, Inquisitor. I will not take it without your permission or your agreement. All I ask is that you think about it—and think _carefully_.”

I sigh heavily, turning back to look at the others. Cassandra and Varric are watching us idly while Cole wrings his hands, pacing back and forth. Solas stands apart from them, his arms crossed. His eyes trail mournfully over the ruins of this once-great temple.

“I will think about it, Lady Morrigan,” I say, glancing at her before I turn to the others. “We’re walking the petitioner’s path,” I call to them softly, waving my hand. “Let’s go.”

“I believe the doors there are the ones we must open,” Morrigan announces. “To do so, we must complete the ritual. Three chambers, see? There, there, and there,” she says, pointing to three separate rooms, one at the northern part of courtyard and two at the east and west walls. “Complete them correctly, and we may move on.”

“Alright,” I nod, moving to the open doors beside the hole blown into the temple.

“Thank you, vhenan,” Solas murmurs softly, coming to my side.

I glance at him and nod solemnly before looking down again as we walk across an intricate, mosaic floor. We reach another platform, wolf statues adorning the corners.

“Ah, this one shall not be as easy as the first,” Morrigan muses, eyeing the stone. “There is a gate cutting off the second half.”

“What happens if I mess up?” I ask.

“I imagine that the ritual will reset itself, and you will begin anew.

“Oh, good.”

“That, or we all perish.”

“Oh…good…”

I sigh and walk to the edge of the platform, carefully considering my path. I glance at a set of stairs and climb them to see the whole area, using my finger to trace out a pattern that should work. When I’m satisfied, I start slowly and carefully. I move onto a secondary floor to pull the gates open, shifting which ones are open and closed, and then continue. The floor hums and glows beneath me, its song promising. Its pitch rises the closer I get to finishing, and I feel a quiet thrum of excitement again at performing this small, sacred rite. I step onto the last tile, and the magic sings beautifully in a quiet tune, magic caressing my skin.

There is a shift in the air—not one I can explain other than to say that I feel it press against me.

“That did something,” I say softly.

“Indeed,” Morrigan agrees.

“How do you know?” Varric asks.

I shrug. “I just feel it.”

“Not…weird at all.”

“Time to proceed to the next ritual,” Morrigan says. “There—below us. That must be the northern chamber.”

I glance down over the balcony, but it’s too far to simply jump. That, and it would be disrespectful. We walk back to the courtyard and through to the northern door, climbing down a steep set of stairs to reach the second room. This platform is significantly larger than the other, and I take a moment to study it before I begin.

My heart hammers in my chest as I go, but I trust myself enough to know the steps. Magic hums in the air again, brushing against me lightly, almost affectionately as I proceed.

Solas, Cass, Morrigan, Cole, and Varric watch from the sidelines. Solas’ expression is neutral; I know he’s happy we chose to do the rites, but there is something in his posture that bespeaks of a quiet rigidity. I falter, wondering if perhaps this is dangerous, but I do not think he would watch me do it if it were harmful. I step forward again, focusing on my path. I try to go quickly, well aware of the battle ensuing outside these walls.

The floor sings again when I finish, and I feel another shift. Cass and Varric don’t seem to recognize it at all, but Solas, Morrigan, and Cole glance up, feeling it, too. 

“We are close,” Morrigan says quietly. “There is but one more path to follow.”

When we reach the last room, I hesitate. Two platforms stand connected by a yellow mosaic floor with two levels apiece, but the flow of the stones confuses me.

“It appears this one must be completely together. The first platform and then the second—all without crossing back over the same tile twice,” Morrigan offers. “Tricky, to be sure.”

I glance over to a set of stairs and a balcony overlooking the platforms. I take them quickly, breathless by the time I reach the top. I look over the rituals, carefully studying the tiles. This one takes me a good deal longer, but when I figure it out, I smile and take the stairs down quickly again and begin. I feel confident until I get halfway, and then I hesitate, fear gripping me when I feel I’ve done it wrong. I blink rapidly, remembering the way the stones wound around the statue in the center and then continue, stepping with care.

When I finish, the shift in the air feels stronger than before. Four levels and two platforms flare gold and then blue, magic humming loudly.

“It wants to say something,” Cole murmurs, “but I can’t hear it.”

“It’s…okay, kid,” Varric replies.

“Come,” Morrigan says. “Let us see if the doors have opened.”

We pass through the courtyard to the doors and push them open swiftly. We enter another long room to see a large mosaic rise high over the wall, gold glittering as it represents an ancient elf. The tiles are artfully designed, revealing a unique style lost through the ages.

“Is this Mythal?” Varric wonders.

“Falon’Din,” I correct softly. “Friend of the Dead.”

“I have heard the Dalish invoke him on their deathbeds,” Morrigan nods, “or before quests from which they expect no return.”

“That is…hopeful,” Cassandra offers.

“Perhaps that is why the Dalish sometimes refer to Falon’Din as ‘the merciful one.’”

“I do not believe they sing songs about Falon’Din’s vanity,” Solas retorts, casting a sideways look at Morrigan.

“What do you know?” I ask quietly.

Solas looks at me softly, his eyes sad, but he answers honestly. “It is said Falon’Din’s appetite for adulations was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn’t bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans.” My skin pales, and I feel sick as I look down. “Mythal rallied the gods once the shadow of Falon’Din’s hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late. Falon’Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple.”

“Sounds like he deserved it,” Varric mutters.

“One does not _lightly _kill a god,” Solas replies curtly, “even in legend.”

“Is that…h-how true are those legends?” I murmur quietly, a tremor in my voice.

Solas gives me another sad look, but Morrigan answers first. “Truer, I should think, than that you may have been told,” she offers, her tone not unkind. “It, at least, bears the truth of a history people might not want to remember.”

I look down again, horrified at that implication. Nausea sweeps through me, churning in my stomach. How many times have I invoked Falon'Din's name? How many times did my clan bury one of our own with a prayer offered to him? 

“Look, another,” Cassandra muses. “Which is this?”

“I believe we are in the presence of the elven goddess Andruil,” Morrigan answers, and I look up in relief. She is the name spoken by our hunters; it was her blessing that gave us the ability to fend for ourselves. “Lady of the Hunt.”

“Or a goddess of sacrifice, according to some,” Solas corrects.

I freeze, glancing at him in agony.

“Truly?” Morrigan says, surprised. “I wonder if that is why Andruil’s patron animal is the hare. ‘Tis said the Dalish invoke her before a chase, especially if they happen to be stalking humans.”

“That’s not true,” I say quickly, my voice high. “S-she’s the g-goddess of the hunt. Our…hunters would invoke her name to help with…with providing food for our clan.”

“Who can say for certain?” Morrigan shrugs.

I turn around and continue walking to the doors, feeling sicker the further we go.

It burns and roils and writhes inside me, a helpless, sinking feeling that weighs me down and makes me cold. Everything I’ve learned, everything my keeper told me, everything I saw at Arlathvhen…everything the hahrens said, all the stories we shared, all the legends we heard, the gods we appealed to, the faith we had…

How could we be so wrong?

Another thought rushes through me, and it makes me falter, my blood turning to ice as I stare at the ground, walking uncertainly.

Do the Dalish know our people at all?


	53. The Well of All Souls

We reach another set of doors, and I push them open delicately. The sun behind me makes the room especially dark, and I can't see for several seconds. Candles are lit around the room, flickering low. When the doors swing shut behind us, we're bathed in darkness for a few moments before our eyes adjust. 

“’Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan admits, looking up and around. “What was this chamber used for? Hm…”

Something prickles at the back of my neck. “Someone’s—”

Before I can even finish the warning, several elves move out of the shadows, their bows drawn taut. Their ancient golden armor shines in the candlelight, regal and powerful. They line the walls and close in around us, covering the doors we came through. Cassandra reaches for her sword swiftly, and I grab her arm, stopping her.

She frowns at me. “Inquis—”

“If they wanted us dead, they wouldn’t have revealed themselves,” I say quickly. “Look,” I add, nudging my chin to the platform above us.

On a balcony with no railing, one of the elves moves forward, his arms crossed as he stares down at us. From under his hood, I see the vallaslin of Mythal, like my own—though his branches reach up high across his forehead, disappearing under his cloak. His armor is ancient, like the others in the room. Gold and silver—noble and elegant.

“Venavis,” he says, his voice quiet but powerful. I feel another weight settle over me when I don’t understand the word. “You…are unlike the other invaders,” he adds. “You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen, and you stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own. You bear the mark of magic which is…familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

I stare up at him in shock—one of our own? Magic which is familiar?

I compose myself quickly. “I apologize for the intrusion,” I say softly. “The men who entered before us are my enemies, as well as yours.”

The elf watches me a moment before unfolding his arms. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the vir’abelasan. It is not _for _you. It is not for _any _of you.”

“S-Solas…?” I ask, glancing at him. “Maybe you can…?”

“What shall I say, vhenan?” he wonders softly. “Shall I sway him from a millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world because he lacks the power to restore it.”

“Wait…” I look up at Abelas, my breath coming faster as my mind struggles to keep up. “Wait, you—you’re elves from ancient times? From before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?”

Abelas frowns at me. “The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over. We awake only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The vir’abelasan must be preserved.”

“What?” I breathe, my head hurting. “That…that doesn’t—the _Imperium_ destroyed our people, w-we—”

“_Our _people?” Abelas repeats. “The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing vallaslin? You are _not my_ people.” My lips part at the sting, and my eyes fill. “And you have invaded our sanctum as readily as the shemlen.”

“W-we knew this place was sacred,” I reply, my voice high. “We’ve respected it as best we could.”

Abelas looks at me for a long moment before his expression softens and he nods. “I believe you. Trespassers you are, but you have followed the rites of petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. That does not change the fact that the vir’abelasan is not for you.”

“W-what _is _the vir’abelasan?”

“It is a path, one walked by those who toiled in Mythal’s favor.”

“He speaks of priests, perhaps?” Morrigan whispers.

“More than that, you need not know,” Abelas finishes.

“We did not come here to fight you,” I say, my tone pleading, “nor steal from your temple. We came only in search of a man who thinks himself a god. He wishes to use the Well of Sorrows for his own gain. He desecrates this place; I would see him stopped.”

Abelas stares at me for another long moment, his expression impossible to read. “You speak the truth again…If these others are enemies of yours…we will aid you in destroying them,” he decides.

“Thank you,” I breathe, relief weighing me down. 

“When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart…and never return.”

“What?” Morrigan demands. “No, what about the—”

“That is our goal, is it not?” Solas says, his voice quiet and urgent. “There is no reason to fight these Sentinels!”

“Of course,” I answer just as desperately.

“Consider carefully,” Morrigan warns. “You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.”

“You said you only wanted the Well if it was available,” I fire back quietly, glaring at her. “It’s not.” I look back up at Abelas. “We will leave,” I promise. “We will pull back from the Wilds and let this place remain in peace. We accept your offer.”

Abelas nods, and Solas breathes out quietly behind me in relief. “You will be guided to those you seek,” Abelas says, gesturing to a door beside us. “As for the vir’abelasan…it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.” He turns around swiftly, disappearing through the door behind him. 

“No!” Morrigan gasps. 

“Morrigan!” I shout, trying to catch her as she lunges forward. She shapeshifts into a raven and soars high above me, out of reach. “_Stop_!” I exclaim.

She disappears over the balcony after Abelas.

“She seeks to protect the Well of Sorrows,” Solas sighs.

“She turned into a bird!” Cole says in wonder.

Rage burns through me at her greed, and I glance at the others in the room, afraid her actions may have cost us Abelas' deal. 

On the contrary, the ancient elves lower their bows, sheathing their arrows in a uniformed manner. Untroubled by Morrigan’s departure, an old elven guide approaches us—a _very _old elven guide. She leans heavily on her staff with every other step, a thick book clutched under her other arm. She waves me over, walking slowly towards a pair of doors beside us.

“Mythal’enaste,” she greets, nodding to us as she continues walking.

I hear swords clashing before I can reply. “Is that—are there red templars in here?”

The woman murmurs something back, but I can’t understand it. I look at Solas.

“She says they broke through the walls. They fight the Sentinels.”

“We have to help,” I say quickly.

“We cannot linger, Inquisitor,” Cassandra warns.

“I’m not going to just waltz by while these ancient guardians die at the hands of Corypheus’ men.”

“Our _own _men die outside these very walls while we waste time.”

“We’re not _wasting _time,” I argue. “We’re respecting this temple and those who have given their lives to protect it. They have agreed to help us; we can afford a few minutes to do the same.”

“They fight on the other side of these doors,” Solas says, his voice in agreement with my sentiment.

I burst through them, and the guide waits in the hall. I locate the Sentinels and the red templars, letting my staff whirl around me quickly. I slam it on the ground, freezing multiple templars in place. The Sentinels finish them off quickly, and I disappear back through the door to the guide.

“Ir abelas,” I say quickly for the delay.

She nods and continues. I stare up at the gold adornments, the perfect murals, and the gilded floors—this part of the temple unchipped, unaffected, unaltered. It’s beautiful and astonishing, and it fills me with an old sadness that aches in my chest. 

The guide walks as quickly as she can, her staff tapping the mosaic floor every other step.

“Which god is that?” Varric wonders, pointing to the left.

I look over to see a large mural depicting a regal, graceful halla. “Ghilan’nain,” I murmur softly.

“And that one?”

“Dirthaman…brother t-to Falon’Din,” I answer more quietly. “We…know him as the Keeper of Secrets.” But what truth lies within the legend? What appalling thing did _he_ do?

“What about that one?”

“F—” I hesitate, stopping before the wolf mosaic. I blink. “Fen’Harel.” Not only a statue outside the temple, but a mosaic of honor deep within the halls of Mythal’s most holy place of worship. I never believed he was a villain, but…if the rest of the elves do, why is he here?

“The trickster,” Cassandra grimaces.

“The rebel,” I correct.

“Penshra!” the guide calls, glancing back at us. “Ghilas vellathan.”

“Is she calling us names?” Varric smirks.

“I…believe she would prefer that we remain close,” Solas answers. His tone indicates he softened the translation.

Varric notices it, too. "Huh. Maybe she _was _calling us names." 

“Ir abelas,” I murmur to the guide again, seeing her nod as we catch up.

A perfectly designed golden statue of a wolf catches my eye. It stands proudly alongside a dragon statue, both bowing their heads respectfully towards one another. I stare at it as we pass, my heart hammering uncertainly in my chest. 

“I don’t understand,” I admit quietly, frowning in confusion. “He…he is so prominent here in this holy place—more so than any other god—more so than her _husband_ Elgar’nan. W-were Mythal and Fen'Harel related?” I ask, looking at Solas.

“No,” he answers quietly.

“Mythal _was _married to Elgar’nan, wasn’t she?”

Solas looks down. “Yes.”

“W-why is Fen’Harel depicted so many times? I thought…I mean…the stories…”

“Guess the Dalish got a few things wrong,” Varric mumbles casually.

My shoulders fall, shamed once again.

“Shit, Snow, I'm sorry. I-I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” I say quickly. 

The guide approaches a wall, murmuring to it. I watch as it slides open, disappearing into the wall beside it, and we pass through.

“I thought the Tevinter Imperium destroyed the elves,” Cassandra says.

“So did I,” I whisper.

“Solas?” 

“This is not the place to discuss these matters,” Solas replies quietly.

I nod and look down again. Solas glances at me, moving his hand to my arm softly.

We follow the guide for what feels like an hour, weaving through a maze of walls and hidden rooms and small alcoves until we reach a wide, long room with a short flight of stairs.

“Vir sumeil,” the guide announces, gesturing at the doors on the second level.

“What’s that?” Varric whispers.

“She said we’re close,” I answer quietly.

She leads us up the flight of stairs and into another room before she stops. “Vir’abelasan,” she says simply, gesturing once more to the doors.

“Ma serannas,” I say to her, moving ahead of the others.

I approach the wide pair of doors and push them open carefully but quickly.

The sun blinds me after so much dim lighting, and I raise a hand to it, staring over the jungle. Vividly colored birds fly overhead, and I gasp as I gaze through the thick, twining branches.

“The Well of Sorrows,” I breathe, admiring it across the long courtyard. A winding staircase leads up to it, and I see a large pool of blue water glinting softly in the light. The well is ornately carved, bathed gold and blue. Even from this far away, I can feel the tug of its magic pulling at me like a gentle breeze. Two massive, nearly life-size dragon statues, their heads bowed, adorn the back wall. Between them, an enormous eluvian shines in the sunlight, its gold frame bright and beautiful, even from this distance.

“So Mythal endures,” Solas murmurs quietly, his voice sad.

“It’s loud,” Cole complains, holding his hands to his ears. “And so cold.”

“Andraste guide us,” Cassandra breathes.

I glance down to see red templars fighting with and mercilessly killing Sentinels.

“No!” I gasp, lunging towards the stairs. I run down them quickly, but by the time I reach the bottom, it’s too late. Golden armor is stained with blood, the last of the elves submerged in a pool of water. I glare in hatred at the templars, my eyes flooding.

“You tough bastards,” Samson calls to his men, unaware of our presence. “A day’s march, _hours _of fighting, and still fierce as dragons. The Chantry never knew what it was throwin’ away.”

“Samson! Ser—watch out!” one of them shouts when I hurl a fireball at them.

Samson dodges it, casting it aside with his shield. “Inquisitor. You’ve got a damned long reach,” he mumbles. “You’ve hunted us half across Thedas. I should’a guessed you’d follow us into this hole, too.”

“You disgusting bastard,” I seethe, gathering my mana again.

“Ah ah,” he tsks. He raises his shield, planting his feet, and I gasp, feeling the air sucked from my lungs.

I fall to my knees, clawing at my collar.

“Snow!”

“Stay where you are, dwarf,” Samson shouts. “All’a ya. I’m so sick’a turnin’ around and seein’ you.”

“We’ve—never met,” I rasp, “but alright.” The world closes in on me and recognizing the nullification process doesn’t make it any easier. I look over to see Solas staring at the ground, his expression tight, and I realize he’s being nullified too. He handles it well, unlike me.

“Corypheus chose me twice,” Samson says. “First as his general, now as the Vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You know what’s inside the Well?”

“Water?” I gasp, feeling my hand hum. I realize with a surge of adrenaline that _my _magic is gone, but the Anchor is still strong.

“Wisdom,” Samson corrects. “The kind of wisdom that can scour a world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor.”

“You…” I grunt, my head pounding as the nullification rips deeper into me. Solas staggers forward a step, gripping his staff as he tries to remain on his feet. They’re not supposed to hold it for this long; I’ve never experienced it _this _long. Even the cruelest templar wouldn't subject a mage to this torture for more than a dozen seconds. With one exception, I suppose. This...this is just overkill. “You…do realize h-how insane that sounds, right? Does Corypheus really seem like—like the sort t-to share his toys?”

Samson marches over to me, and I weaken, a whine slipping through my teeth as the nullification field grows stronger. Solas falls to one knee beside me, his knuckles white on his staff. “You dare say that to my face?” Samson demands. “After you butchered my men? You’re no match for Corypheus. Look at you, cowering on the ground.”

“Well, you _are_ suffocating me,” I gasp. Everything is grey and out of focus. I feel my awareness fading. I won't be able to stay conscious for much longer. 

“Even if you drink from the Well, you’ll never master its wisdom as he could.” Samson gestures to himself grandly, and I grip my left hand. Perhaps it’s the glove, the lyrium somehow offering magic where there should be none. “_This _is the strength the Chantry tried to bind. But it’s a new world now—with a new god. So, Inquisitor, how will this go?”

“Still—got a few tricks up my sleeve,” I grunt.

“You’re immobile,” he scoffs. “What do you think you—”

I trust my hand up, gripping the edge of the Fade. “Be sure and thank Cory for the Anchor, by the way,” I say, panting. “It’s been very useful.”

“You little elf bitch!” Samson roars.

The rift breaks open forcefully, knocking us all back. I hit the ground hard, gasping and crying out from the effects of the nullification, even as the field is broken.

“Inquisitor!” Cass calls, scrambling to me.

“Go,” I pant, waving to Samson. “Right—right behind you—”

“Hang in there, Snow, Chuckles,” Varric says, his voice worried.

“All—good,” I gasp, waving again. I roll onto my side, pressing my forehead to the ground briefly. I grunt through my teeth, the field slowly releasing its hold on me. Too slowly. Shit, that’s unpleasant. 

I hear demons pour through the rift…Not…what I intended, but it’ll do for a distraction in a pinch.

“Solas,” I pant, “are you alright, ma lath?”

“Yes,” he breathes, rising slowly to his feet. He reaches for my arm, pulling me up gently. “Are you, vhenan?”

“Nope,” I reply, finding my staff and picking it up. “This should be—interesting,” I say, feeling drained and weak and vaguely sick. “I hate…being nullified…” I try to conjure a fireball, but I stagger forward instead. “Gods, not that one,” I gasp, my vision blurring. I try an ice dagger instead, throwing it at a red templar. It manages to lodge itself into the man’s neck, and I make a pleased face, bending a little at the waist. “Shit,” I complain, rubbing my eyes. “Get it together, Sul,” I add.

“Don’t push yourself, vhenan,” Solas warns softly, casting a protection spell around Cass. He clenches his jaw, strained.

“Same to you, ma lath,” I murmur, squeezing my eyes shut. I gasp, conjuring another ice dagger.

Samson roars and kicks a demon out of his way powerfully, the creature flying off to the side before disappearing. He marches over to me, and I throw up a firewall, grunting at the strain of maintaining it. It drains me, making me feel sick and jittery. My knees shake under me, and the firewall dims significantly.

“That’s just pathetic,” I complain, trying to strengthen it.

“Vhenan—”

I hear Samson roar and then something comes flying through the flames. I think it’s him at first, as dulled as my senses are, but then I startle when I see who hits the ground with a solid thud.

“Cole!” I shriek, rushing towards him. I fall beside him, relieved when I see his chest move with shallow breaths. Just unconscious—thank the gods.

I look up again to see Samson come closer. I grit my teeth, raising the flames higher with every ounce of strength I possess.

Samson just laughs and steps through the fire slowly. “Do you see this armor, elven whore?”

“Rather—uncalled for,” I reply, wincing as I drop the wall.

“I’m going to cut your hand off of your rotting corpse and give it to my master as a gift.”

“Rather…vivid. You know, last guy who said that ended up eating his own words,” I say, rising to my feet again.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t ya?”

“I like to think so.”

Samson charges at me. Everything Bull, Cass, Solas, Krem, Blackwall, and Cullen ever taught me to do in these circumstances flees my mind for a terrifying moment, and then it all comes rushing back just as fast. I drop my weight and catch Samson’s sword with my staff, pushing it down to the ground swiftly. A demon lunges at me, and I dodge it quickly, rolling to Samson’s side. Before he turns around, I pull my dagger out from my belt and stab the weak part of his padding below the knee. He roars, dropping down, and I scurry back to see Solas wrangling with two red templars. Cass and Varric hold off the rest, and Cole is still out cold. On my own, then. Excellent.

I get to my feet quickly, trapping Samson’s leg in ice. He swings his sword at me in fury, arcing it high over my head. I dodge to the side, falling to my knees clumsily before I jerk into a roll. I thrust my staff at him, my blade digging into his shoulder. He grips his leg, standing up to tower over me once more, and he tries to lunge at me. I jerk back, stumbling a little as I try to find his weakness.

“Inquisitor!” Cass calls, fighting the red templars.

“Perhaps I’ll keep you alive for my master,” Samson seethes through gritted teeth, swinging at me again. “I’d like to see what he does with you.”

“You’re—a weird guy—Samson,” I pant, dodging back again. He spins his sword agilely, and I only just manage to catch the blade with my staff before it severs my torso from my legs. I kick my foot out, trapping his leg in ice again, grunting at the strain. “Shit—”

“You’ll fall—they always do. And when you do, I’ll kill everyone with you.”

“You’re—not giving me much incentive—to fall,” I sigh, thrusting my staff at him. It’s a lazy swing, and he casts it aside violently, making me stumble to one side. “Shit,” I gasp again.

“You’re no match for me,” Samson rages.

“Probably not,” I agree, “but she is.”

Cassandra suddenly comes charging past me, and I watch her slam into Samson like the warrior she is. She raises her shield and bashes him powerfully across the shoulder, knocking him to one side. He swings at her, and she catches the blade swiftly, flipping hers around his sword and jerking her arm to the right. His blade suddenly flies out of his hand, and she quickly drives hers through the side of his armor in a weak spot, piercing his chest. His eyes widen, and he gasps, blood pooling on his lips and slipping down his chin at the suddenness of her victory. She rips her sword back out, stepping beside me as he struggles for a moment and then collapses.

I thrust my left hand up into the air and close the rift as quickly as I can, sagging when it’s finished.

“Shit,” I gasp, leaning on my knees.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Cassandra breathes.

“You…are so awesome,” I pant.

“Is everyone okay?” Varric calls. “Kid!” he suddenly exclaims, rushing to Cole’s side. “Hey, kid, you alright?”

Cole stirs, blinking rapidly. I look around worriedly for Solas to find him walking to us slowly, wiping his forehead. His eyes are as unfocused as mine feel, and I know he overworked himself, as I did.

“Vhenan,” he says, reaching for my cheek breathlessly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I gasp, brushing my fingers against his jaw before I drop down to Cole’s side.

“There you are, kid,” Varric says, relieved as Cole’s eyes open more clearly.

“Cole,” I murmur, “can you hear us?”

“Yes,” he answers slowly, squinting. “My head—”

I raise my fingers to his forehead, murmuring quickly.

“Vhenan, let me,” Solas says, kneeling slowly beside me.

I shake my head to refuse, but he ignores me, his mana and will blending with mine. Our magics are equally drained, but combined, it's enough to help. It makes the strain on me less painful, and I finish the words quickly until Cole stops squinting.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

I rise to my feet slowly, reaching down to help Cole up. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he smiles.

Someone suddenly rushes past us, and I look up to see Abelas racing to the Well, a raven hot on his trail.

“Abelas!” I call.

He bounds up the flight of stairs, moving as quickly as he can to beat Morrigan.

I chase after them both, wheezing as I mount the stairs swiftly, the others close behind me. Abelas pulls to a sudden stop, barely winded as he looks at Morrigan. She shifts into herself again, standing between him and the Well.

“Morrigan,” I gasp, my voice hoarse. “What—are you—doing?”

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor,” she replies quickly. “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!”

I glare at her, clutching the stitch in my ribs. “It doesn’t—_belong _to you! He can do—whatever he likes with it!”

“So, the sanctum is despoiled at last,” Abelas says scathingly as he stares at Morrigan.

“You would have _destroyed _the Well yourself, given the chance!” she retorts.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers,” Abelas nods. “Better to be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”

“Fool!” Morrigan spits. “You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!”

“Morrigan!” I exclaim. “Back _off_! This isn’t your—”

“The _moment _we leave,” she says, turning on me, “Corypheus will send more forces to secure this place.”

“Then let Abelas destroy it!”

Morrigan scoffs. “You bumble so carelessly that you do not even _realize _the weight of what you are suggesting. The Well _clearly _offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you really afford _not _to use it? We’ve seen that he cannot die. How do you intend to slay him, hm? You’ve exiled all the Grey Wardens, so they can’t help you. You’ve seen him die, and he came back to life. He knows how to incapacitate your Anchor, likely with or without your _glove_. Not to even mention that this is the last remnant of _your _people, as you like to remind us all, and you would really see it _destroyed _in an act of desperation?”

I glare at her again. “I would not see it taken by someone who wants to use it for their own gain.”

She shakes her head angrily at me. “This is where you err yet again, Inquisitor. You misunderstand my motivations once more. I do _not _wish it for myself to simply meet the goal of achieving more power or to ascend to godhood. I use it to restore knowledge _long-since _lost to us. I could use it, and then we could defeat Corypheus _together_. Is that not your goal, Inquisitor? Do you think so little of me that you have forgotten we share an enemy?”

Abelas shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is thin and quiet. “Do you even know what you ask?” He turns to the Well, staring into its depths with a dutiful and tortured expression. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on…through this. _All _that we were, _all _that we knew…it would be lost forever to your grasping fingers.”

I look from the Well to Abelas again. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, the anger rushing out of me. “It cannot be easy, holding onto what’s left.”

“You cannot imagine,” Abelas murmurs, his voice almost a whisper. “Each time we awaken, it slips further from our grasp.”

Solas steps forward, his expression strained. “There are other places, friend,” he says quickly. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

Abelas looks at him. “Elvhen such as you?”

“Yes,” Solas murmurs. “Such as I.”

Abelas closes his eyes briefly, turning to me again. “You have shown respect to Mythal, and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire, then? To partake in the vir’abelasan as best you can to fight your enemy?”

“Yes,” Morrigan answers quickly.

“No,” I reply, glancing at her before looking at Abelas sincerely. “We would do nothing without your permission.”

“One does not obtain permission,” he replies. “One obtains the right.”

I blink, glancing at the Well.

Abelas walks away a few feet, staring out over the Temple of Mythal. “The vir’abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend,” he says, turning his head slightly in our direction. “Brave it if you must but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound?” Morrigan repeats dubiously. “To a goddess who longer exists, if she ever did?”

“_Bound_,” Abelas replies firmly, “as we are _bound_. The choice is yours.”

“Wait, please,” I say, stepping forward imploringly. “Does…are you saying…Does Mythal still exist?”

“Anything is possible,” he murmurs.

“What are you asking, Inquisitor?” Morrigan wonders. “Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen’Harel and banished to the Beyond with all the rest.”

“‘Elven legend’ is wrong,” Abelas says firmly, looking back at us. “The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.”

Morrigan and I both freeze, looking at him with wide eyes. “Murder?” I gasp.

“I-I said _nothing _of murder,” Morrigan breathes.

“She was slain,” Abelas replies, “if a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple.”

My heart skips another beat. “What?” I whisper.

“Yet the vir’abelasan remains. As do we. That is something…”

“I don’t—understand,” I breathe, confusion and grief welling in me. “This temple was…destroyed by—who—”

“She was betrayed, but not by the Dread Wolf.”

My heart races, and my lips part to voice another question, but I can’t form it.

“Where will you go?” Morrigan wonders when he steps away again.

“Our duty ends. Why remain?” Abelas replies.

Solas moves forward again. “There _is _a place for you, lethallin,” he says softly, “if you seek it.”

Abelas looks at him, frowning softly. He holds Solas’ eyes for a moment and then nods. “Perhaps there are places the shemlen have not touched. It may be that only uthenera awaits us, the blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken—if fate is kind.”

“Thank you for this gift, Abelas,” I whisper, my mind reeling.

“Do not thank me yet,” he murmurs.

Solas steps forward one last time as Abelas turns to leave. “Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas.”

I close my eyes briefly when Abelas nods gratefully at Solas and descends the stairs.

“What did you say to him?” Varric asks quietly.

“His name,” Solas murmurs, his voice sad. “Abelas means sorrow. I said I hoped he finds a new name.”

I meet Solas’ eyes briefly before Morrigan turns to me, gesturing to the well. “You’ll note the intact eluvian,” she sighs, shaking her head. “I was correct on _that _much, at least.”

“Is it still a threat? Can Corypheus use it to travel to the Fade?” I ask.

“You recall when I took you through my eluvian, I said each required a key? The Well _is _that key. Take its power, and Mythal’s last eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.” She stares over the water, cocking her head. “I did not expect the Well to feel so…hungry…”

“Be careful,” I say when she steps closer, her expression transfixed. “I don’t want anyone hurt.”

She watches the water a moment longer before looking at me. “I am _willing _to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

“Or more likely, to your own ends,” Solas says bitterly.

“What would _you _know of ‘my ends,’ elf?” Morrigan snaps.

Solas glares at her. “You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted.”

“Of those present, I _alone _have the training to make use of this! Given to anyone else, over half the knowledge would be rendered unintelligible. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

“You alone?” I repeat, frowning at her. “You’re not even elven.”

“What does that _matter_?” she asks, her voice exasperated. “_You _are, and you have learned more things here today than you had in your entire _life _with your clan. Am I wrong?” she demands when I falter. “I have studied the _oldest _lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you can only dream! Can you _honestly _tell me there is anyone better suited?”

“What about Chuckles?” Varric asks.

“No,” Solas answers immediately, his voice final. “Do not ask me again.”

Morrigan gestures to him. “See, _he _doesn’t want it, and _you _lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take. I have the best chance of making use of the Well for _everyone_. Let me drink.”

“What of the price?” I ask. “‘Bound forever to the will of Mythal’?”

“Bound to the will of a dead god?” she says skeptically, almost laughing. “It seems an empty warning. Perhaps a compulsion yet remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.”

“Maybe…maybe we _should _destroy the Well.”

“And I say to you the same thing, Inquisitor, as before: What happens when Corypheus comes for you again? He is _immortal_. The wisdom of the Well may include some way to destroy him. According to Abelas, the servants date back to the times that _elves _were immortal. They _must _know a way. _Give _me this,” she pleads, “and I will fight at _your _side. _I _shall be your sword.”

I glance at the waters uncertainly, and I realize that Morrigan really _is_ asking. At any point in this entire conversation, she could have pushed me aside and done as she pleased, but she truly is waiting for my permission.

I realize, too, that she’s right. It makes me feel sick and ashamed to admit it, but I cannot use its power; I wouldn't even be able to understand the ancient words. Solas is the only other one I could imagine could make use of its power and information, and he adamantly refused. It kills me to realize she knows more of my people than I, but the fact is inarguable. As she indicated, growing up Dalish did very little to teach me what she learned independently. 

“Looking at it,” I whisper, “listening to it…that’s not just knowledge from the ancient elves…it’s their will.”

Morrigan glances at me. “How would you know such a thing?”

“_That’s _what Abelas was telling us. The collective will of the priests puts anyone who drinks under a compulsion, a geas. Can’t you feel it, humming in the air?”

“That…_would _match the legends,” Morrigan muses, “but it does not tell us what the geas entails…_I _would still use the Well, but you are right. We must be cautious.”

I glance at the others, wary of making the wrong choice. I find Solas’ eyes, feeling the desperation in my expression.

He looks at me sadly. “She is right about only one thing,” he says. “We _should _take the power which lies in that well.”

“Would you have me do it?” I ask, trusting him above everyone else.

Solas’ expression changes, dread and sorrow twisting his features. “No, vhenan,” he whispers, his voice quiet. “I would not see you bound.”

“If it is truly between her and you,” Cass murmurs hesitantly, “then…let her take the risk. Maker help us all.”

Cole wrings his hands. “So many voices. They would be in your head, talking over you. You don’t want them.”

I look at Solas again, confused and grieved and uncertain.

His expression grows tortured, agonizing me even more with its weight. Something he can't or won't say hides a warning deep in his eyes. He reaches up, letting his thumb brush against my cheek as he looks at me imploringly. “Do not bind yourself, vhenan,” he whispers again.

I look down.

“Enough deliberation,” Morrigan says. “Give me your decision.”

I glance back at the Well—the last remnant of my people. If Solas fears this thing, with all this knowledge…

I swallow, looking up at Morrigan. “Alright,” I say quietly. “It’s…It’s yours.”

Solas moves his hands to my arms, pulling me back gently. I look at him to see his eyes relieved beyond measure as Morrigan steps forward.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she murmurs, staring into the Well’s depths.

She moves into the water slowly. As she goes, the water emits a soft blue glow, and I feel the magic of its power brush against my skin. The mist clinging to the water whirls gently towards Morrigan like a soft breeze.

She wades in waist-deep, the mist all but obscuring her from sight. Solas’ hands on me tighten, and he pulls me back another step. Voices drift in whispers across the mist. Morrigan glances back at me, and then lets herself fall into the water. The Well shakes and vibrates, water sloshing out of it onto the mosaic tiles. Before it can meet my toes, Solas pulls me back again, watching warily like he’s seen this kind of thing before.

The Well suddenly explodes, water rising in a rush over the edges. Solas pulls me into him, turning me away from the force. I look over his shoulder to see Morrigan lying in the middle of the Well unconscious. I blink rapidly, realizing the Well is drained—not even her clothes are wet.

“Morrigan!” I call, moving past Solas and down the steps into the basin. I drop beside her, reaching out to her shoulder. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Morrigan gasps, jerking upright. She looks around confusedly, her eyes searching for something and not finding it. “Ellasin selah! Vissan…vissanalla…” She raises her hands to her face, looking around wildly. She gets to her feet slowly, her expression gradually calming.

“Morrigan?” I say, reaching for her before pulling my hand back hesitantly.

“I…I am intact,” she says in her usual voice. She looks around, stepping backwards when she sees something I can’t. “There…There is much to sift through…but now we can—” She freezes suddenly. The mist around her feet flares, and she looks up at the Temple of Mythal sharply. The mist moves past me, skirting to the edge of the Well. “He’s here.”

I jerk my head up to the temple. Corypheus marches to the edge of the balcony. He looks below to see his dead general and then sees us at the Well. He simply stares at us a moment, as if in disbelief. A wordless scream is pulled from him in rage, and he thrusts his hands at the floor behind him, launching himself up into the air.

“The eluvian!” Morrigan calls.

We turn around and race towards it. “Through the mirror, go!” I shout, pushing Cole when he hesitates. Cass and Varric go after him, and then Morrigan. I glance back to see the blue mist swirl into a figure, taking the shape of a woman. My eyes widen, and I hesitate again as she stares over the courtyard at Corypheus as he races towards us. Solas takes my hand and pulls me through, and then the Well is gone.

I trip backwards, falling into Solas, and we land in a heap on a stone floor. I gasp, looking up and recognizing Morrigan’s eluvian in Skyhold. Morrigan pants on the ground beside me, and I see Cass helping Varric up.

Morrigan waves her hand over the eluvian swiftly, and the blue shimmer turns to glass again.

I stand up, pulling Solas to his feet apologetically. I don’t release my tight grip on his hand.

“Wait, what about—the soldiers—Cullen, Leliana, Blackwall, Bull, Sera—how will they know to retreat?” I ask desperately.

“I will get a message to them,” Morrigan says cryptically. “Do not worry on that front, Inquisitor.”

“How—”

“I need some time to...understand what I'm...what I'm hearing,” she adds, squinting at something behind me. “I will send a message to your troops, and then I must rest. I…thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Are you alright, Morrigan?”

“There is…much to go through. It will take me…some time,” she murmurs distractedly. “So many…voices.” She squints again and then nods at something I can’t hear. She leaves the room slowly, her eyes again fixated on something I can’t see.

“Well…not complaining about the shortcut, but…she’s even weirder now,” Varric mumbles.

Cassandra sighs heavily. “I’m sure the ones who stayed behind will be surprised at our sudden return. I will go and explain it. Try…I will _try _to explain it.” She frowns and departs.

“Well,” Varric sighs. “That was…something. C’mon, kid, let’s…get a drink.”

I watch them go, blinking slowly. I glance back at the eluvian, and I feel my eyes sting again with the weight of what we—what _I _learned. I sigh, the sound breaking from me thickly. I interlace my fingers with Solas’, moving my head to his shoulder, and I realize that the only thing anchoring me is his hand wrapped tight around mine.


	54. All New, Faded for Her

I sleep for much longer than I intend, and when I wake, I find Solas gone. The sun hovers in the middle of the sky, and I roll over, groaning into my pillow. It takes me a while to get out of bed and dressed, and then I’m heading downstairs. The soldiers in the hall nod at me, not at all confused by my appearance, so I imagine Cassandra managed to explain our bizarre reappearance, as she said she would.

I make my way slowly through the hall, acting casual like I _didn’t _just sleep half the day away on accident. Varric is laughing with Dorian at the table near the fire, and they both wave as I walk into Solas’ study. He's standing in the middle of the room, staring up at the wall beside the door thoughtfully, his expression otherwise neutral. I turn around, grinning when I see his newest mural.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, reaching forward to take his hand. He interlaces his fingers with mine, and I admire the ancient elven figure drawn alongside a representation of the Well. I shake my head softly, marveling again at his unique style—so unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

“The Temple of Mythal was extraordinary,” Solas replies quietly, scanning the artwork distractedly. “In all my journeys, I never dreamed of finding anything like it.” He looks down at me, his eyes studying mine. “What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

I frown briefly and then sigh, shrugging. “The war proved that we can’t just go back to the way things were. I’ll…try to help this world move forward, I suppose.”

He turns to face me. “You would risk everything you have in the hopes that the future is better?” he asks, his voice almost…angry, though I can’t imagine why. “What if it isn’t? What if you wake up to find that the future you shaped is _worse _than what was?”

I hesitate, searching his eyes for the source of his questions before I indulge the hypothetical. “Then I’d…take a breath, see where I messed up, and try again.”

Solas looks away, closing his eyes briefly. “Just like that?” he wonders softly.

I shrug. “If we don’t keep trying, we’ll never get it right.”

His eyes fall to the floor, and then he looks back up at me, smiling softly. “You’re right,” he murmurs quietly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I wonder.

“You…” He gives a quiet sigh, glancing at the mural beside us again before returning to me. “You have not been what I expected, Suledin. Over the last several months, you have…impressed and inspired me. You have offered hope that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave…that _someday_…things _will _be better.”

I frown at him concernedly, raising my hand to his cheek.

“Forgive my melancholy,” he says softly. “Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries and its stolen power…that, at least, we may recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive.”

I grin at him, narrowing my eyes. “You’re being deliberately grim and fatalistic in the hopes of getting me into bed, aren’t you?” I challenge playfully.

“I _am _grim and fatalistic,” he replies before smirking. “Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.”

I laugh loudly, throwing my head back at the unexpected joke.

Solas watches me, his smile growing and softening. He lifts his hand to my cheek. “Come with me, vhenan,” he murmurs, tightening his fingers on mine. “I want to show you something.”

***

Solas walks beside me, his fingers laced through mine. He moves slowly, admiring the waterfall up ahead as we walk. Twin hart statues adorn the pool of water, their heads thrust back majestically. The moon shines down brilliantly over the quiet waterfall, pulling diamonds from the rushing water. 

“It's beautiful here," I breathe with a soft smile. "Where are we?” 

“This is a place I discovered many years ago,” Solas replies quietly. “It has always brought me peace.”

I smile widely at that. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

He gives me an adoring look, his smile warm. “The Veil is thin. If we were here physically, we would be able to slip across with but a thought. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?”

“Wait,” I laugh, “we’re in the Fade?”

“Yes,” he smiles, chuckling once when I give a huff. “The Anchor on your hand makes it so much brighter…so much sharper,” he adds, his tone thoughtful.

“You know, one day, I’m gonna figure out how to randomly pull _you _into the Fade, and you’ll be like, ‘_what_? The _Fade_?’”

Solas grins, pulling us to a stop just short of the pond below. He moves his hand to my cheek, his fingers gentle against my skin. He admires me for a long moment, his thumb arcing across my cheekbone. His eyes dance lazily between mine, his expression overwhelmingly affectionate. 

“I was…trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he murmurs.

“Ooh,” I hum playfully. “I’m listening. _And _I can offer a few suggestions.”

Solas smirks. “I shall bear that in mind,” he promises, his expression playful for a moment before it grows sad. He blinks and looks down, meeting my eyes again more solemnly. "For now…the best gift I can offer is…the truth. You are unique,” he murmurs. “In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.”

“As you are to me,” I murmur sincerely.

He smiles at first, but then his eyes darken, and he looks down again before he meets my eyes. “Then what I must tell you…the truth…” He searches my eyes for a long moment, his expression heavy with uncertainty and something almost like fear. He parts his lips and draws a breath to speak, but something in him hesitates. There's a small flicker in his eyes, a decision, and he closes his mouth. He swallows and looks down before returning to me, his eyes hollow and different now. “Your…face. The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

“They honor the elven gods,” I murmur in confusion. “Mythal—”

“No,” he says softly, his voice low. “They are slave markings.” I blink, my lips parting as my stomach drops. “Or, at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to perhaps admit to joking, though I know he wouldn’t do that. I swallow, feeling sick. “W-what?” I gasp. “No…my…my keeper said they—honored the gods—th-these are their symbols…”

“Yes,” he breathes. His expression is so sad that I realize with another sickening wave of nausea that he is telling me the truth. “A noble would mark his slave to honor the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell…the Dalish forgot.”

Tears flood my eyes, and his tighten, his eyebrows pulling together as he grips my hand securely. “So…this is…what?” I whisper. “Just…one more thing the Dalish got wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” he returns just as quietly. 

I hang my head, feeling sick and weak. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I raise my free hand to my mouth, breathing quietly. I close my eyes, the lump in my throat painful. Solas tightens his fingers on mine, waiting.

“We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep?” I whisper. “Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter? Half-truths about gods and…misunderstandings a-and…” I shake my head, my throat closing. “My whole life—everything we tried to do…everything we said, all our prayers…fairytales.”

“Don’t say that,” Solas says softly. “For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right. They made you.”

I close my eyes tighter, feeling tears streak again. “Everything…everything is wrong—everything we thought…how could we be so _wrong_?” I breathe unevenly.

Solas takes my hand in both of his, bringing it up to his chest. “I never wanted to cause you pain, vhenan. I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like…I…I know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin.”

I look up at him through my tears. “What?” I gasp. “They’re…permanent…”

“I can remove it,” he murmurs again, his eyes sad, almost hollow.

“They’ve…been apart of me for so long…I…” I frown, uncertain.

“I’m so sorry, vhenan. I just…I look at you, and I see who you truly are…and you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.”

Tears blur my vision again, and I drop my hand from my mouth, swallowing thickly. “Then…cast your spell,” I whisper. “Take the vallaslin away.”

Solas nods solemnly. “Sit,” he murmurs, gesturing to the ground.

I kneel in front of him. He moves close to me, his knees moving to either side of mine. I look up at him, folding my hands in my lap. He raises both of his to my cheeks, his fingers hovering close enough that I can feel the warmth of his skin. He watches me, his eyes moving between mine before his hands glow a beautiful, brilliant blue. I wince, expecting it to hurt, but it feels cool and soft, like a nice breeze on a warm day. The light reflects in his eyes, bathing him in a soft tone as he focuses. He doesn’t say a word, but I feel his magic brush against me softly, lovingly. He moves his hands slowly around the sides of my cheeks, tendrils of magic tickling my skin.

The light fades from his hands, and then he lowers them slowly. His expression softens, his eyebrows pulling together slightly as he gives me a sad smile. “Ar lasa mala revas…you are free,” he murmurs.

I look down. I don’t _feel _different, but I somehow feel naked, too, my face bare for the first time since I was a child.

Solas takes my hand, gently pulling me to my feet. I glance up at him to see his expression adoring and affectionate.

I offer a hesitate smile, looking down again as my cheeks flame sheepishly.

“You are so beautiful, vhenan,” he murmurs quietly, taking my face in his hands. His thumb arcs over my cheek, and he steps closer, the love in his eyes making me feel less insecure.

I admire the color of his eyes and the tenderness in his expression, feeling safe and warm. He smiles again softly, leaning forward to press his forehead to mine. I close my eyes, breathing out slowly as I circle his wrists loosely with my fingers. He moves his head, leaning down to kiss me gently. His arm winds around my waist, and I press my fingers against his shoulder, smiling against his lips. His kiss feels different, reverent in a way, as his thumb arcs over my skin affectionately.

He pulls back gently to look at me, his smile soft and beautiful. I return it, breathing out slowly.

In an instant, his expression changes. His eyes grow so sad that it twists in me, and I reach up for his cheek, concern rushing through me.

“I can’t do this,” he whispers quietly.

“Do what, ma lath?” I return just as softly, tilting my head a little. "What's wrong?"

“I’m sorry, vhenan,” he breathes, stepping back once.

My hands hover in the air before I let them drop. “What…” Something clenches my heart at the look in his eyes, and it takes me a second to recognize that it’s fear. My expression falls, and I swallow thickly. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, stepping back again when I try to reach for him. “I’m sorry.”

“What are—S-Solas, what are you—I-I don’t understand.”

I step forward, and he moves away from me, his eyes anguished. “Please, vhenan,” he whispers.

“What...are you doing, Solas?”

“I’ve…distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.”

My chest squeezes, and I can’t breathe when I finally understand what he’s saying. “Solas—I don’t—what are…p-please, stop,” I beg, trying to reach for him. He closes his eyes briefly, stepping back again. “I-I love you, Solas, please—just—just talk to me. Whatever's wrong, we can figure it out together. I _know _you love me, too—Solas—”

He slowly shakes his head, and my eyes blur his face. I blink the tears away rapidly. “You…have a rare and marvelous spirit,” he breathes with difficulty. “In another world—”

“Why one this one?” I plead, taking his hand before he can step back. “Ma lath, _please_—ju-just talk to me—what’s wrong? W-we can figure it out—”

Solas pulls his hand away gently, his eyes filling as he shakes his head again. “I can’t.”

“Solas, please, I'm begging you—p-please don’t do this, I can’t lose you—you’re too _important_—you're all I have left; just talk to me, please, ma lath, please—_please_—”

“Vhenan,” he gasps, stepping back again.

“I can’t—I can’t do this without you—I don’t _want _this without you—p-please—”

His eyes grow tortured, tears slipping down his cheeks, and he holds a hand out, backing away again.

“_Please_, Solas, just _talk _to me. We can figure—”

“Wake up,” he breathes thickly.

I jerk upright in bed, looking over for him beside me. My eyes flood when he isn't there, and I press a hand to my mouth. A dream—just a dream—just a—

I get out of bed quickly, my legs unsteady under me.

Please—please, it was just a dream—just a dream.

I rush to the mirror, my hands shaking as I grip the vanity. 

Fear clenches my heart, and I close my eyes tightly, terrified to look up for a long moment. When I do, my heart stops. 

My skin is bare.

My vallaslin is gone.

***

In the morning, I have fully convinced myself that it was a dream, that he removed my vallaslin and that the rest was just my imagination. Some foolish thought makes me change my clothes and clean my face in preparation. My eyes are swollen from crying, and I wipe them swiftly, pulling my hair down over my ears, but it can't hide the bareness of my cheeks. I wipe my eyes again and breathe out sharply, my heart clenched in fear. I walk downstairs slowly, hesitating outside the door to the main hall. It takes me several moments to feel brave enough to open it. I try to move casually through the hall, but I feel eyes on me, and I hear the quiet gasps and confused whispers as I present my bare face.

I hold my head up as high as I can, my heart pounding so fast that it hurts.

I move my hands behind my back and try to walk with confidence, though every step is terrifying.

Solas’ study is closed, and that makes me falter, because the door always stays open unless I'm in there with him. Before anyone in the hall can notice, I step through the first door quickly, entering the small hall between the two. The second door is closed too, and I bite my lip to stop it from shaking, because he hardly ever closes this door, especially. I rest my hand against the wood, my heart thudding in my ears. I close my eyes, breathing quickly.

It's okay. I’ll open it, and he’ll look up from his books with a warm smile. He’ll call me vhenan and invite me to sit on the couch while he finishes his work.

It nearly breaks me when I open the door, and he doesn’t look up from his papers.

He leans again his desk, and I can tell he was reading, but his eyes are frozen on the page now.

I inch closer to the desk, waiting for him to acknowledge me—to glance up or say my name or _something_, but he doesn’t. All he does is close his eyes.

“Solas,” I whisper, my voice thick.

It takes him a long moment to answer, and when he does, his voice is quiet and hollow. “Inquisitor,” he replies without look up from his page.

My throat closes up at the distance in his voice. My lower lip trembles, and I swallow against the lump in my throat. “You won't even look at me?”

Solas doesn’t move for so long that I think he’s ignoring me. Finally, he stands, his fingertips resting against the wood of his desk. He raises his eyes to mine slowly, his jaw tight. I lose control when I see the devastated look in his eye, even as he tries desperately to fight it.

“Won’t you talk to me?” I cry, my voice shrill as I step forward once. "What did I do wrong?"

Solas looks away, his jaw clenched tighter. His eyebrows twitch, and he breathes out quietly before looking back at me. “Do—” His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat, starting again with firm voice that breaks me. “Do you need something, Inquisitor?”

I feel my expression crumble, and he looks away from me, his eyebrows pulling together. A strangled breath leaves me when I glance at the couch we read on. Solas closes his eyes, his hands turning into fists against his desk as he clenches his jaw again. I turn around, gasping once as I go quickly. My eyes flood and spill as I close the doors behind me softly.

I gasp again, moving quickly through the main hall. I can’t see where I’m going, and I hold my breath, my head pounding as I try to maintain control. I make it as far as closing the door to my tower before I press against it and slide to the bottom, cries bursting out of me, strangled and unrestrained.

I fold my legs up, hugging my knees as I cry against them. I hide my face, my chest aching and clenching. 

It startles me when I look up and see Cole sitting on the stairs, wringing his hands.

“What can I do?” he pleads. “You’re hurting.”

I just shake my head, sobs bursting out of me as I hug my legs again.

“Solas is broken, too,” he says, his voice tight.

“Why is he doing this?” I beg, looking up at Cole. "What did I do wrong?"

He looks at me, sad and alarmed. “All new, faded for her,” he says, wringing his hands harder.

“What does that mean?” I cry.

“I…don’t know,” he admits.

I roll my head back, trying to breathe, but I hang it again when another wave of sobs breaks through my chest. I shake violently, hugging my knees. Cole sits beside me against the door anxiously. He hesitates before moving his arm around my shoulder. My own cries deafen me, and I lift a hand to my chest, folding in on myself at the ache of every heartbeat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll kindly excuse me, I'm gonna go cry some more


	55. The Final Piece

It’s several days before the soldiers return to Skyhold from the Arbor Wilds. An Inquisition agent delivers the message to me in my room that Cullen, Leliana, and Josie want to see me in the war room. I dress slowly, glancing at myself in the mirror. My eyes catch on my reflection, and I sigh when I see the puffiness of my eyes, the flatness of my expression, and my skin bare of my vallaslin. My hair is limp and flat, but I don't bother putting it up. My lack of sleep shows under my eyes, the skin bathed in shadows, but the most alarming difference is the clearness of my cheeks. I stare at myself for a moment, trying to determine a way to make it less noticeable. I pull my hair over my shoulders slowly and tuck it behind my ears in an idiotic attempt to hide the difference, but its unmissable.

I make my way downstairs slowly, beyond relieved to know that they’re alright. I feel empty and hollow otherwise—drained and exhausted. I’ve yet to see anyone outside of Cole a few times, a couple agents, and the kitchen staff, and I don’t relish the idea of having to explain. Some foolish part of me hopes everyone’s sense of politeness will bid them not to ask, but I don’t think I’ll get away that easily. I never do.

I fold my hands near my stomach, picking anxiously at my fingers as I walk. I watch the ground as I go, hoping that if I look distant enough, no one will talk to me. Outside of that, I’m afraid of looking up and seeing Solas and that firm, blank look in his eyes again, so I don’t bother.

I move into Josie’s office unscathed to find it empty. I see the war room doors standing open, and the three of them are talking quietly, laughing. The sound is such a relief that my throat closes up again before I clear it softly.

I enter the room quietly, closing the doors again behind me.

“Inquisitor!” Josie greets happily. “We were very relieved to receive word from Morrigan that you’d—oh!”

I look up numbly, waiting for her to continue. My eyes are so dry that the cool air makes them sting, and I look down again after a second. 

“Suledin,” Cullen says, looking at me worriedly when I glance at him. “A-are you alright?”

“Of course,” I reply quietly, moving my hands behind my back so I can clench them. “I’m glad to see you’ve all returned safely.”

Cullen looks even more concerned, and I look down at the maps between us.

“Did—something happen at the Temple of Mythal?” Josie asks.

“No,” I answer flatly.

“F-forgive me, Inquisitor…Y-your face—I…thought those marks were permanent.”

I drop my eyes, nodding once. “I learned that they meant. Sol—so I had them removed,” I reply.

“Truly?” Josie gasps. “What…a…Did Solas do it?”

I flinch inadvertently, turning the gesture into a nod. I don't do it smoothly enough, though, and I peripherally see Josephine and Cullen exchange a look. “Uh—yes,” I answer, my voice thin.

“Forgive them, Inquisitor,” Leliana says quickly. “The reason we called you here was not to discuss such personal matters.”

“Ah…no,” Cullen agrees, clearing his throat. “No, of course not. Forgive us, Suledin. I’m pleased to report we won the battle. When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field, though I’m not sure why.”

The door cracks behind us, closing again quickly. “What he wanted was no longer within the temple.”

I glance back at Morrigan and then lean against the table tiredly. She gives me a surprised doubletake but doesn’t comment.

“Perhaps,” Cullen agrees, resting his hands on his sword pommel. “He spent so long trying to get into the temple, he probably couldn’t have helped his forces by that point.”

“Then…Corypheus is finished?” Josie asks hopefully.

Leliana shrugs. “If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again.”

Morrigan moves her head down, pressing her fingers briefly to her temple. “He will not hide,” she murmurs confidently.

“How do you know?” Cullen wonders.

“The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now from across the ages. They hold wisdom, secrets I never dreamed possible. But even they fear what Corypheus has become. Luckily for you, he has a weakness.”

“What is it?” I murmur, staring tiredly at the map. Cullen shifts, and I see him and Josie exchange another look, so I stand upright and cross my arms, forcing myself to look at Morrigan as she answers. Leftover insecurity in my vallaslin makes it difficult to maintain eye contact, and my eyes flit around her every time I try to meet her gaze. 

“The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon in which Corypheus has invested part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride, to emulate the gods of old. That pride can be exploited. Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain.”

“How?” I mutter. 

“There _is _a way to defeat the dragon, to match Corypheus in his power. The well whispers it to me now. Your help will be required, Inquisitor. Speak to me when you are ready, and we shall begin.” She nods formally at the others and departs as quickly as she came.

“I’ll see to Skyhold’s defenses in the meantime,” Cullen announces.

“Thank you, Cullen,” I murmur. “Thank you all,” I add when it feels disingenuous.

“Inquisitor,” Josie says, stepping to me. “_Are _you alright? You look…unwell.”

“I’m just tired,” I reply, looking down at the map. “I’ll see what Morrigan’s plan is and meet you all as soon as I know anything.”

“Alright,” she says worriedly, glancing at the others. “Let us know if you need anything.”

I nod. “Thanks, Josie.”

I turn around swiftly and open the doors. I don’t bother closing them as I walk down the hallway slowly, hearing the others talk softly behind me. I sigh at that, moving through Josie’s office to the main hall. I’m almost at the gardens when Varric stops me.

“Snow! Hey, Snow, I’ve been looking for—”

I glance up at him when he stops talking. “You’ve been looking for what?”

He frowns, concerned. “Snow, what happened to your face? Your tattoos, I mean.”

“I had them removed,” I sigh. “What did you need, Varric?”

“You _what_?” Varric exclaims. “Y-you had them _removed_? But—you told me how important they—Chuckles! Did you know about this?”

“Excuse me,” I say quickly, pushing at the door to the gardens when Solas glances up.

“Wait, Snow! Where are you—what’s going on?”

I close the door quickly, breathing out heavily before I continue.

“Inquisitor!” Cass exclaims, running over. “I—oh—” Her eyes widen when she looks at me, and she frowns but moves on quickly. “Lady Morrigan! She just chased after her son into the eluvian. She was terrified!”

I run to the room, seeing the eluvian still lit. “Go get help.”

“I’ll find Solas—or Dorian, perhaps. Be careful!”

Before I can reply, she’s gone, and I pass through the mirror quickly.

I freeze when I realize where the eluvian brought me. Horror floods me when I find myself once again physically in the Fade, green mist clinging to the ground. Rocks hover in the sky, and I look over to see Morrigan nearby, her hands covering her mouth. She looks at me, her eyes, indeed, terrified. It’s so unfamiliar that I blank before rushing over to her. 

“Why would Kieran do this?” she gasps, her voice thick. “_How _could he do this? We stand in the _Fade_! To direct the eluvian here would require _immense _power!” I realize she’s crying, and I move closer to her, alarmed. “If he is lost to me now, after all I have sacrificed—”

“We’ll find him, Morrigan,” I promise. “He can’t be far.”

“The Fade is _infinite_,” she cries. “He could _literally _be anywhere!” She steps past me, panicking. “Whatever happens to him now, ‘tis my doing. I set him on this path.” She faces me again imploringly. “_Please _help me look, Inquisitor. Just a little longer.”

“Of course, Morrigan,” I say quickly. “Let’s go—he can’t be far.”

Morrigan takes off, and I jog after her, wishing I had my staff.

We search for what feels like hours, time slipping past us in the Fade as we run. I wonder idly how long it truly is in the real world, if the time works differently here, as it does in dreams. I shut off that line of thought when I realize who I’d want to ask about it.

“There he is!” Morrigan exclaims, pointing down a long canyon.

I look up to see Kieran standing beside a woman in elegant, armored robes. She kneels before him, talking quietly. “Who’s that with him?” I ask. 

“No!” Morrigan gasps, running faster.

She pulls to a sudden stop when we reach them, and I almost run into her. The kneeling woman watches as Kieran conjures a blue ball of light. He plays with it before letting it disappear, glancing over at us.

“Mother!” he grins.

“Mother,” Morrigan replies, looking at the woman.

“Mother?” I repeat incredulously.

“Now, isn’t this a surprise?” the woman says, standing. The crown atop her head looks alarmingly familiar—but I can’t quite place it.

I frown. “So…is this a…family reunion, then?”

The woman chuckles. “Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, does it not?”

“Kieran is _not _your grandson!” Morrigan spits. “Let him go!”

The woman scoffs. “As if I were holding the boy _hostage_.” She glances at me. “She’s always been ungrateful, you see.”

“Ungrateful?” Morrigan shrieks back. “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone!”

“Yes, dear, you made that quite clear when you sent your friends to do your work for you.”

“You will _not _have me, and you will _not _have my _son_!” Morrigan raises her arms, magic forming against her fingertips as she prepares to strike.

“That’s quite enough,” the woman says firmly. “You’ll endanger the boy.” Her eyes flare a brilliant blue, and she raises her hand to Morrigan, her fingertips glowing with the same color.

Morrigan reels back suddenly, her magic exploding backwards. “What have you done to me?” she gasps, staring at her mother.

“_I _have done nothing,” the woman replies indifferently. “_You _drank from the Well of your own volition.”

My eyes widen, and Morrigan gasps. A long silence fills the Fade as the woman smirks at us before Morrigan finds her voice.

“You…are Mythal,” she gasps.

“_What_? Your mother is...you're the _daughter _of...” I breathe, uncertainty clouding my judgement. How can this be real? “M-Mythal? I…It…i-it is a great honor to meet you, Mythal.”

“You see, girl?” she says to Morrigan. “_Those _are manners, as you require a demonstration.”

“I require nothing from you but your death!” Morrigan shouts. 

“Morrigan!” I snap, appalled. Mother or no, this is a _goddess. _

“You tried that once already, and see how far it got you?” Mythal challenges. She pats Kieran’s shoulder, and he runs forward to his mother. Morrigan catches him, hugging him tightly before she puts him down, trying to shield him.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he says sincerely, looking up at her. “I heard her calling to me. She said now what the time.”

He slips away from Morrigan, walking back to Mythal.

“I do not understand,” Morrigan breathes.

Her mother looks at her. “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

“T-then…you are…a…vessel for Mythal?” I breathe, struggling to comprehend.

“She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest. You hear the voices of the Well, girl,” she adds, looking at Morrigan. “What do they say?”

Morrigan looks down, her expression uncertain and…afraid. “They…say you speak the truth,” she says in disbelief.

“But what _was _Mythal?” her mother ponders. “A legend given name and called a god or something more? Truth is not the end but a beginning.” She looks at me, smiling warmly. “So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far.” My eyes flood, and I incline my head towards her. “As for me, I have had many names, but _you _may call me Flemeth.”

I blink, looking up at her again. “Flemeth?” I repeat softly. “I…know that name. I researched you after I spoke with... My people call you Asha’bellanar, the Woman of Many Years…They say that…long ago, you left your husband for a lover…Your husband then tricked you, killed your lover, and imprisoned you. Then, a spirit came to offer you vengeance.” I blink. “_Mythal_…”

Flemeth grimaces. “One day, someone will summarize the terrible events of your life so quickly.”

“Mythal—I-I mean Flemeth, forgive me, I meant no offence.”

“Yes, I know, child,” she murmurs softly. “But yes, I _was _that woman. That is how my tale began.”

“Flemeth appears in so many legends,” I whisper. “You’ve met so many heroes throughout the ages.”

She smirks. “I _nudge _history, when it’s required. Other times, a _shove_ is needed,” she adds with a private chuckle.

“Wait…” I look up at her. “I-if Mythal is part of you…We…needed you,” I breathe. “We called to you, _prayed _to you—”

Flemeth looks away, her expression sad. “Yes…I know, child,” she says again. “But what was could not be changed.”

“What does that mean?” I whisper. “Please, I-I need to understand what happened.”

“Perhaps someday you will,” she nods. “But it is not today. For that, I am sorry.”

“W-what about now, then?” I ask, my voice creeping towards desperate. “You know so much! You could change—everything!”

She gives me a quiet look. “You know not what you ask, child.”

My mind races to keep up. “What…why did Mythal come to you?”

“For a reckoning,” Flemeth answers, her voice powerful, “that will shake the very heavens.”

“And _you _follow her whims?” Morrigan demands indignantly. “Do you even know what she truly is?”

Flemeth glances at her. “You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I _taught _you, girl—because things happened that were never _meant _to happen.” Flemeth grows emotional, her eyes flaring angrily as her voice gains a godly ring. “_She _was betrayed as _I _was betrayed—as the _world _was betrayed! Mythal _clawed _and _crawled _her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!”

I blink, my heart pounding my chest in both fear and awe. Her voice echoes back to us, and she straightens, composing her expression once more.

“Alas,” she sighs softly, “so long as the music plays…we dance.”

I part my lips to speak, hesitating briefly. “I…suppose you know what we’re up against…_who _we’re up against.”

“Better than you could possibly imagine,” she replies.

“Will you…will you help us?”

“Once I have what I came for,” she answers, glancing at Morrigan.

“I have to go now, Mother,” Kieran murmurs softly.

“_No_!” Morrigan says firmly. “I will not allow it.”

Flemeth gives her a displeased look. “He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this.”

“He is not your _pawn_, Mother! I will not let you use him!”

“Have _you _not used him?” Flemeth wonders. “Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?”

“That was then,” Morrigan breathes, shaking her head. “Now, he…he is my _son_!” She steps back, glancing at me. “Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead!”

“Why…?” I ask, glancing at the boy.

“_I _am not the only one carrying the soul of a being long thought lost,” Flemeth muses.

“He is _more _than that, Mother,” Morrigan says, her tone pleading.

“As am I,” Flemeth shrugs, “yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl.”

“Mother,” Kieran says sadly—not for himself, I realize, but for her. “I _have _to.”

“You do not belong to her, Kieran!” Morrigan cries. “Neither of us do!”

“If you needed him, why did you wait until now to come?” I ask.

“I did not know where he was,” Flemeth answers. “Morrigan cleverly hid him from me…until now.”

Morrigan gasps quietly, and then her expression twists in grief. “’Twas the Well…”

“Always grasping beyond your reach,” Flemeth sighs. “Despite all that I taught you.”

I step forward once. “W-whatever else he may be, Kieran is still a child.”

“And so much better behaved than his mother was at this age,” Flemeth muses, earning a pleased grin from Kieran.

Morrigan falls to her knees. “Kieran, I…”

Kieran watches her, his expression falling. He looks up at Flemeth, communicating something to her without speaking.

Flemeth glances at her daughter on her knees. “As you wish,” she sighs. “Hear my proposal, dear girl.”

Morrigan stands again, staring at her mother warily.

“Let me take the lad,” Flemeth offers, “and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again.” She stops, watching her daughter carefully. “Or, keep the lad with you, and you will never be safe from me. I _will _have my due.”

“He returns with me,” Morrigan replies immediately.

“Decided so quickly?” Flemeth mutters, arching an eyebrow.

“Do whatever you wish!” Morrigan exclaims. “Take over my body now, if you must, but Kieran will be free of your clutches. I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.”

Flemeth stares at her daughter for a long moment, her expression growing sad, almost hurt. She steps to Kieran and takes both his hands. Her eyes close briefly as she raises their arms slightly, spreading his out like wings. A blue orb is pulled slowly from his chest, and he grins down at it as it slowly passes between them, disappearing into Flemeth’s chest. She smiles down at him when she opens her eyes.

“No more dreams?” Kieran wonders hopefully.

“No more dreams,” Flemeth murmurs back, her voice affectionate.

He grins at her and moves over to Morrigan. She takes his shoulders, pulling him to her protectively.

Flemeth looks at her daughter, her eyes troubled by an ancient pain. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan,” she says softly. “You were never in danger from me. Listen to the voices. They will teach you…as I never did.” She turns around and walks away slowly.

“Wait!” Morrigan calls, her voice high.

Flemeth glances back at her once but doesn’t stop. Morrigan watches her mother until she fades away in the distance.

***

Skyhold is a welcome sight, as always, when we return through the mirror. I cross my arms over my stomach loosely as Morrigan closes the eluvian and turns frantically to her son. 

“Are you alright, Kieran?” she asks. She angles his head towards her, searching his eyes. “You are not hurt?”

“I feel lonely,” he answers sadly, moving his small fingers to his chest.

Morrigan gives a soft, relieved laugh, pressing her hand to Kieran’s cheek. He smiles at her gently and then moves away, walking slowly to the door.

“She wanted the Old God soul all along,” Morrigan muses. “Is it worth reminding myself that perhaps I do not know everything after all?” She shakes her head slowly, rubbing her forehead. “My mother has the soul of an elven goddess—or whatever ‘Mythal’ truly was—and her plans are unknown to me.”

“I can’t believe we…technically…actually sort of met Mythal,” I breathe. My chest tightens as soon as the words are out, because I realize again that there is only one person I want to tell, only one person who could possibly understand how I feel or help me sift through it.

“I knew she kept the truth from me,” Morrigan muses. “I even suspected she was not truly human, but this? I always thought the so-called ‘elven gods’ were little more than glorified rulers, but now I have doubt. And doubt is…an uncomfortable thing, Inquisitor.”

“Welcome to my world,” I mumble.

“Just be thankful _you _did not drink from the Well. I am evidently tied to my mother for all eternity.” She shakes her head at herself, sighing.

“So…Kieran had the…soul of an Old God?”

“Taken from the Archdemon at the final battle of the Fifth Blight, yes. He has never known anything else. I am uncertain what effect this have on him…”

“But…why did you…”

“I told you at the temple, the magic of old must be preserved—not matter how feared.”

“But…_how _did you…”

“Do you really wish to know?” she muses, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe not,” I frown. “Why did she want the soul?”

“This, I do not know.” She sighs again quietly. “Kieran had a destiny, and now it is in Flemeth’s hands. I suppose we shall see what she does with it.”

I shake my head, my mind reeling. “I…still can’t quite wrap my mind around it…_Mythal_…”

Morrigan nods in agreement. “It is as if something from ancient times stretched a skeletal hand into our present,” she sighs. “Of course, the same could be said of Corypheus.”

“I guess it never…hit me the same, but…yeah,” I muse, shaking my head yet again.

Morrigan sighs. “Now we must prepare to face Corypheus himself. It seems Mother was right. The voices of the Well tell me I will be able to match his dragon. All that remains is for you to find him.” She turns to me, offering a rare smile. “Thank you, Inquisitor, for helping me. I shall not forget this.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I murmur. “I’m glad he’s safe.”

She nods, relief washing over her features again. “I must make preparations for the fight with Corypheus. It will undoubtedly be difficult, to say the least. Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Morrigan.”

She nods at me again and disappears from the room. I look at the eluvian once more, tears welling in my eyes now that I’m finally alone. I sink down to the ground slowly, bringing my knees up to my chest, and I hug them tightly as I stare at the mirror. I breathe through my nose sharply, resting my chin on my knees.

The door bursts open, startling me, and I look back to see Solas and Cass burst in anxiously, their eyes falling to me.

“Vhe—Inquisitor, are—is everything alright?” Solas says, correcting himself in a manner that makes my chest tighten more.

“Yes,” I say quietly, looking back at the mirror. 

“Where is Morrigan? Kieran?” Cass asks breathlessly.

“They’re alright,” I answer. “They’re in the garden, I think. Thank you for getting me, Cassandra.”

“Of…course. Everything is…fine, then?”

I nod silently.

“Alright…I…Inquisitor, what…has happened to your tattoos?”

I close my eyes. “I had them removed,” I reply flatly.

“I didn’t…know that was—possible. How did—”

“It was done in a…private moment,” Solas says quietly.

“Oh—y-yes, I should not have asked. I apologize, Inquisitor. I…think someone is calling for me.”

In any other circumstance, I would laugh at her poor lying. Now, I just stare at the mirror.

“Suledin,” Solas says quietly from across the room. I close my eyes at his voice, at the way he sounds out my name. My vision floods, distorting the images before me. “Did something happen?”

“Yes,” I reply honestly, my voice thick. “But it’s alright now.”

“Are…” He hesitates. “Are _you_…alright?”

I don't know how to answer that at first. The truth aches in my chest. "Yes," I whisper instead. 

He stands there a moment longer. When he turns to leave, I hear him whisper one last thing so quietly that it’s only after he’s gone that I understand the words.

“I am sorry I hurt you, vhenan.”

I close my eyes, my forehead dropping to my knees. I hear the door close softly, and I grip my legs tightly, tears streaking down my cheeks as my chest tightens and my throat burns. I breathe raggedly, leaning back against the wall behind me as I cry into my knees.

The door bursts open several minutes later, and I look up sharply to see Dorian enter, looking around wildly.

“I heard something was—Sul,” he gasps, his voice softening. “Darling, are you alright?”

I nod, wiping my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, coming to me.

“Nothing,” I reply thickly.

Dorian sits beside me, and he silently pulls me to him. I don’t know why it breaks me again, but it does. I shift over to him, accepting his hug as I cry into his robes quietly.

“Shh, darling, it’s alright,” he whispers soothingly, moving one of his hands to my knees. “It will be alright.”

I close my eyes, struggling to regain control, and a flash of Flemeth’s headpiece sparks in my memory again. Out of her presence, I realize only belatedly that it _is _Mythal’s, as depicted in all the illustrations and statues.

I cry harder, covering my face because, once again, I realize Solas is the only one with whom I could share and discuss it. I wish I could just waltz into his study, collapse on his couch, and listen to him tell me another story or lay across his legs while he reads or walk with him hand-in-hand while he answers all my inane questions with a warm smile.

More than anything, I wish I hadn’t taken it for granted when I had it.


	56. The Lights in the Shadow

I walk into the war room to look at the map, but I find Cassandra leaning over the table, her expression concentrated.

“Planning troop movements?” I joke quietly, crossing my arms.

“I’m trying to imagine what it will look like when we’re done,” she answers quietly. “All of this once belonged to the Tevinter Imperium. Andraste changed that, as did the Blights. As for what will come next…I cannot guess the Maker’s plan.”

I shrug. “Guess we do the whole ‘make the world a better place’ shindig.”

She frowns at me, the expression more amused than annoyed. “Yes, because everyone agrees on what ‘better’ means…I know _I _want a world where people trust the chantry, and that trust is respected. I want to respect tradition but not fear change. I want to right past wrongs but not avenge them. And I have no idea if my wanting these things makes any of them right.”

I smirk at her. “They sound good to me. They’re certainly admirable.”

“Some would disagree,” she sighs. “They would call it heresy.”

I chuckle once. “That didn’t sound like the ravings of a heretic, Cass.”

“Perhaps not, but it takes precious little effort to paint even an act of compassion as damaging.” She sighs again and walks to the window, leaning against the sill. “Tell me,” she murmurs, “what guides you? You make decisions that shake the world, yet you always seem so assured. I wish I had your confidence.”

Surprise pushes away any immediate joke I might form. “That…almost sounds like you admire me,” I say quietly, coming to stand beside her.

“I absolutely do,” she replies seriously, looking at me steadily. “I may not always agree with your decisions, but how many could do what you do? You were a prisoner, accused and reviled, yet you’ve emerged from every trial victorious.”

My cheeks flush, and I smile, looking out the window, too. “That’s good to know, because I’ve just been making it up as I go.”

Cassandra suddenly laughs quietly. “‘The Inquisitor was _hilarious._’ That is what they will say about you.”

I chuckle and then look down. “In all seriousness,” I say, “I…just listen to my conscience.”

“Your conscience must speak more clearly than mine.”

“I doubt that very much,” I smirk at her, “but I do my best.”

She smiles at me. “It is funny…Andraste, the Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall…Once again, the fate of the world will be guided by a woman. I am honored to be standing at your side.”

I blush again, lowering my eyes. “I…hope that means we’re best friends now,” I say, only half-joking.

“As do I,” Cass murmurs. “Defeating Corypheus will not be easy…Whatever it takes, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m honored to have you with me, Cassandra. You’ve been a genuine inspiration to me. Neither the Inquisition nor I would be the same today without your guidance, advice, and loyalty.”

Cassandra looks out the window again, smirking slightly. “I do not believe that but thank you.”

I laugh quietly and shake my head, glancing at her fondly before following her gaze out to the mountains.

***

It’s twilight when I make my way through the main hall again. I don’t know why I do it to myself, but I glance into Solas’ study to see his doors open. I catch a flash of him sitting at his desk, his hands folded before his lips. He stares ahead, his expression blank and hollow as he fixates unseeingly on something across the room near the floor. As I watch, he suddenly bows his head to his hands and closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. 

It aches in my chest, tightening and squeezing my heart and lungs, and I look down, turning away quickly. I’ve almost reached the door to my tower when Varric hollers across the hall for me.

“Snow!” he calls loudly. “No, no, no, come here—don’t go up there.”

“I’m tired,” I reply quietly.

“I don’t care. C’mon, let’s go. One more game of Wicked Grace. I’m not taking no for an answer, so don’t even bother.”

“Varric,” I sigh, “I’m not really in the mood for—”

“Snow,” he says softly, coming to a stop in front of me. “Come here 'n sit down, would you, so I can look at you?” I lower onto the stairs to the dais, looking up at him blankly. “Look, Snow, I…” He sighs. “I know you 'n Chuckles…” I drop my eyes, folding my hands. “I really am sorry. I know how much you...I know it hurts, Snow. Believe me, I know better than most. But what you need is to forget about all that, you know? We’re going up against _Corypheus _soon. We gotta have some downtime. Now, I’ve gathered everyone together, and they’re all waiting at the tavern as we _speak_, Snow. They’re gonna be really disappointed in me if I don’t bring you with me.”

I fight a smile.

“I’m serious,” he says, sensing weakness. “They’ll ban me from all future Wicked Grace events if you don’t come with me. I’ll just be known as the guy who _failed _to bring our fearless leader into the fold. You don’t want that, do you?”

I laugh weakly, shaking my head.

“Exactly, there you go, Snow. Now, c’mon. Curly’s in charge of drinks, Sparkles found the cards, and Ruffles is ready to bleed us all dry again.”

I laugh again. I glance at my door, knowing what will happen if I go up there right now. I peek up at Varric and smile softly. “Alright.”

“Yes!” he grins, taking my hand and pulling me up. “There we go. You’re not gonna regret this, Snow.”

I resist the urge to glance over into Solas’ study again, but my heart drops a little as we pass it. If Varric wasn't pulling me along, I might even change my mind about meeting the others. 

Varric leads me to the tavern, and my eyes widen when I realize he wasn’t kidding about _everyone_.

Bull and Krem are laughing and talking as they drink; Dorian and Cass appear to be arguing about something; Sera, Blackwall, Scout Harding, Dagna, and Cullen are cracking up about something Sera is saying, hitting the table while she watches them giddily; Leliana and Josie are giggling quietly, gesturing to Cullen and Blackwall; Cole is grinning from ear to ear as he sits on the edge of his chair, watching everyone.

Almost everyone.

“I found her!” Varric announces loudly.

Everyone cheers, and I blush with a somewhat weak laugh.

“Sul!” Dorian calls, waving me over. “We saved you the best seat next to me. Had to fight some people for it, you’re welcome.”

I smile and sit between him and Cullen, looking down at my hands.

“Boss!” Bull greets, and I glance up at him. “Are you ready to get your ass handed to you? Respectfully,” he adds with a smirk.

I chuckle softly and nod. “I’m ready to watch you drink yourself into unconsciousness, at least,” I retort, my reserved tone making the joke fall a little flat.

Bull laughs anyway, the sound like a roar. “Nice, boss.”

“She’s got you pegged,” Krem smirks, raising his mug in my direction.

Bull frowns at his lieutenant. “Y’know what, Krem de la crème? No one asked you.”

Krem chuckles.

“Are we going to play cards or what?” Cass demands.

“Hold your horses there, Seeker,” Varric replies. “We’re getting it all together.”

“I didn’t think we’d be able to convince you to join us again,” I say to Cullen, leaning closer so he can hear me.

He laughs. “I almost _didn’t_. Varric managed to convince me I would win my pride back.”

“Good luck with that,” I muse.

“Thank you,” he chuckles, glancing down at me with a friendly smile.

“Alright, everyone here needs to know something,” Josie calls, getting everyone’s attention. “Before we get started, _no one _bother trusting Leliana.” The spymaster laughs, bells ringing through the room as she playfully swats Josie’s shoulder. “I’m deadly serious,” Josie adds. “If you value your money, do not trust a word she says to you.”

“Oh, Josie, will you _ever_ let that go?” Leliana sighs, amused.

“You made me look like a _fool_ in front of the Duchess of Lydes, so I should think not!”

“Josie, _Josie_,” Leliana hums affectionately. “You did that to yourself when you bet against a bard.”

“Wait, you’re a bard?” Krem says, looking over at Leliana. “I’ve heard they’re a right dangerous group.”

“Only if you get on our bad side,” Leliana teases.

“Don’t listen to her, Krem,” Bull says with a smirk, grabbing a mug. “She’s all talk.”

Leliana raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh _really_?”

“Oh yeah,” he nods.

“You think so?”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Careful, Bull,” Dorian warns. “You’ll end up with a knife tied over your bed for that one.”

“I was a spy, too, remember?”

Dorian waves his hand impatiently. “This one,” he says, gesturing to Leliana, “you never see coming. Beautiful, charming, sweet—and then she stabs you in the back and smiles at your bleeding corpse.”

Leliana raises an eyebrow at Bull, and he narrows his eyes.

“Ah, hey, wait, wait, no cheating,” he says quickly, calling out Cass and Josie.

“I am _not _cheating,” Cass exclaims, pulling her cards to her chest. “I was checking if—I was just checking if my cards were good.”

“Yeah, that’s called cheating.”

“Oh, come now, give the Seeker a break,” Varric interjects, leaning across the table to grab a plate of peanuts. “I doubt she ever heard of fun before she came to Skyhold.”

“Oh, yes, that is _hilarious_, dwarf,” Cass mutters.

“I can see her daily itinerary now: Dawn—wake up, eat, begin training; noon—yell at a new recruit; dusk—train until midnight.”

Cass huffs a laugh. “And yours: Noon—get up and drink until twilight.”

“That’s…actually pretty good, Seeker,” Varric nods approvingly.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Didn’t you hear? That’s my specialty.”

“Why does this one have a sword through her heart?” Cole suddenly wonders, holding up his cards.

“_Kid_, we’ve been over this.”

“But she doesn’t like it!”

“She’s—a statue, kid, on a card.”

“What?”

“It’s just a card, kid. She can’t feel anything. Trust me. They don’t care.”

“But…”

“_Kid_,” Varric laughs. “Take the night off.”

“Of what?”

“He means you don’t have to worry about helping the cards for tonight,” Bull says.

Varric nods, gesturing agreeably to Bull.

“Oh…” Cole stares at his cards before laying them all flat. He rearranges them in proper numerical order, and I grin when Varric heaves a sigh.

“Okay, no one look at the kid,” he advises.

“Does anyone have a quill?” Josie suddenly asks.

“Why?” Cullen asks, leaning around me to hand one over to her.

“Thank you,” she replies politely with a smile before she throws it across the table at Sera.

“Wha', looney!” Sera complains.

“Stop cheating,” Josephine says seriously.

“I wasn’t! I was just—lookin’ to see if Widdle’s finger was alright after she cut it.”

“Aw,” Dagna smiles, “that’s so sweet!”

“She’s lying, Dagna," Josie frowns. "She was cheating.”

“That was my good quill,” Cullen mumbles, and that makes me laugh softly.

“Sorry, Cullen. I’ll help you find it after we—” I look up to see Sera chewing on it. “I’ll get you a new one,” I correct quickly, earning a laugh from him.

“Are we ready to play?” Varric asks. “Everyone good with cards, drinks, food…?”

“Oh, wait, I don’t have cards,” I say quickly, looking around over the messy table.

“Here they are,” Leliana says, reaching over to move a mug from them. “Dorian put his drink on them.”

“Whoops, sorry, darling,” Dorian chuckles. “Didn’t see them.”

“How dare you,” I gasp, pulling my cards up as he chuckles again. A truly awful hand. “Who’s starting the bets?”

“You should, Snow,” Varric calls.

“Alrighty then…let’s go two coppers,” I say, pulling them from my pile and tossing them to generally the middle.

“Two!” Bull sighs. “What is it with you guys—I keep telling you—_silver_!”

“It’s a good place to start,” Krem says defensively. “And I raise you.”

“What!” Bull exclaims as I grin. “Fine. I call.”

“Where are we?” Josie asks, looking up. “Oh, three coppers? Hm…I raise to five.”

“This is not how this goes,” Varric sighs, throwing his coin in. “I’ll be bust before the second round.”

“Cole?”

“This one is shinier than the others!” he says, playing with the coin.

“Keep it, kid,” Varric chuckles.

“Really?” Cole gasps.

“Yeah sure.”

“Yes!” He pockets it excitedly.

“Mother of…why am I always so far from Cole?” I complain.

“Because you got the privilege of sitting next to _me_,” Dorian answers quickly, smirking at me.

“Here we go with Sparkles thinking he’s a gift to mankind,” Varric muses. “Right on time.”

“I _am _a gift,” Dorian replies. “And you’re all very welcome.”

I smile at him. “Krem, can you hand me that—thank you,” I say, accepting the mug from him. I take a long sip, feeling Bull’s eyes on me. When I cough hard, I realize why. “What _is _that?” I rasp as Bull laughs loudly.

“It’s Antivan,” he answers.

“It’s _terrible_!”

“It’s an acquired taste,” he chuckles.

“Gods,” I complain, banging my chest.

“You alright, Suledin?” Cullen laughs.

“Bull’s trying to kill me.”

“Antivan drinks?” he guesses.

“_Yes_,” I rasp.

“Sorry, Your Worship,” Krem offers as he fights a smile. “The chief’s got terrible taste in liquor.”

“I’ll probably survive,” I reply, coughing again. Cullen hands me a mug of water, and I nod gratefully, taking a long drink.

“Okay, everyone remember from last time,” Varric calls, “Snow is a _hustler_, so no one listen to her when she pretends to know nothing.”

I scoff. “You _wound _me,” I say, tossing a couple more coins.

“We have all agreed to add Snow to the ‘ones to watch’ list.”

“I _lost _all my money to Josie, as you may recall.”

“True, but you pulled the wool over on Cullen and me first. Thus dangerous, thus the watchlist.”

I laugh quietly, twisting my fingers in my lap.

“It’s true,” Blackwall says, leaning up to wink at me. “She’ll take us for all we’re worth after the Ambassador’s finished with us.”

“I beg your pardon, ser,” Josie hums innocently, placing a hand at her collar.

“My apologies, my lady,” Blackwall smirks. “But you play cards better than the roughest and lowest of the gamblers.”

“Wait, wait, who’s turn is it?” Dorian asks suddenly.

We all look around, uncertain. “I think it’s still yours,” I reply. “Did you bet after me?”

“I don’t…think so?”

“Oh, I already bet,” Josie says beside him.

“Okay, I’ll just throw this in, and we’ll jump to Leliana,” Dorian says, tossing a few more coppers.

“Okay, before we all lose all our money to Ruffles,” Varric calls, getting everyone’s attention, “put your cards down—I’d like to make a little toast.”

“Speech!” Sera exclaims, giggling excitedly.

Everyone falls quiet, looking over at Varric.

“First off, Snow,” he says, standing up to look at me. He smiles softly. “I never really did the whole…officially joining the Inquisition thing, and I know, I know—I’m a little late, but…” He looks at me seriously. “I think you kind of…fell into this thing, and you’ve never really been given a change to even realize what you are to the people out there. You give them hope. You…You give _me _hope. Back when this all began, it…it was feeling like the end of the world, but then you came along, with the Seeker threatening to kill you every fifteen seconds—” I laugh quietly with several others as Cassandra gives a disgusted noise. “—and you just sort of lifted everyone up. I know you don’t necessarily need me, of all people, to tell you this, but…Thank you, Snow. Really. I know this…hasn’t been easy on you. You’ve lost a lot, _sacrificed _a lot. We—all of us here—we just wanted you to know that…we saw it. We noticed, and we appreciate everything you’ve done. You didn’t ask for any of this weird shit, but you never gave up, and you inspired the rest of us to keep going, too. So…when we head out there to fight that darkspawn bastard, know that we’re all right there with you. We believe in you. To Snow!”

I raise my fingers to my mouth, tears flooding my eyes and rolling down my cheeks as everyone grins and raises their mugs. I gasp quietly, breathing in sharply through my nose. Everyone cheers and laughs and hollers my name, grinning widely. Dorian gives me a half-hug, his arm a vise around my shoulders, and Cullen pats my wrist, smiling at me warmly. Josie comes around the table to hug me from behind, and I laugh and cry, shaking slightly from the overwhelming emotions washing over me. Warmth floods my chest, and I grin as everyone takes their seats again. I look around at them all as they start playing again, and my eyes flood again. I reach for Dorian’s arm, hugging it loosely, and he smiles at me fondly, patting my hand. I press my other hand to my chest, laughing when Varric says something funny, and I get overwhelmed again by the memory of how this all started. A group of misfits and unlikely allies who often couldn't manage to be in the same room together without bickering are now cheering and laughing as they hand each other drinks and food. I wipe my tears away again, realizing, not for the first time, that they've become my family, and I send out a silent prayer that, whatever happens, they'll be alright. 


	57. Doom Upon All the World

“After you, Inquisitor,” Morrigan murmurs, gesturing with a sweep of her arm.

I nod and push open the war room doors swiftly. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine turn to look at us. They walk closer to the table in the middle, their words falling away.

“Did you…find what you need, Morrigan?” Leliana wonders.

Morrigan nods. “I can match the darkspawn magister’s dragon, yes,” she replies.

Leliana moves her hands behind her back, looking at me.

“As for matching Corypheus,” Morrigan adds, glancing my way, “that is up to you, Inquisitor.”

“No pressure,” I mumble.

“Then all that remains is to find Corypheus before he comes to us,” Cullen sighs.

Leliana shakes her head. “We’ve been looking for his base since all this began with no success. My agents have been scouring the continent for where he might have fled after the Temple of Mythal.”

“His dragon must come and go from _somewhere_,” Cullen frowns.

“What about the Deep Roads?” Josie suggests. “We could send word to Orzammar, hire envoys to—”

An explosion cuts her off, the sound deafening me, and my hand suddenly flares, jerking me forward a step. I gasp and then cry out, surprise and horror enveloping as the pain returns to my wrist, no longer inhibited by the glove. Tears spring to my eyes in shock, and I groan as I bring my shining hand to my chest with a wheeze. 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen exclaims, moving around the table quickly. His hand falls on my back concernedly, and then he stares past me in horror. I grip my wrist as the room is bathed in a green light, and I look up past Josephine through the window. The blood drains from my face, and I gasp again with the others.

“The Breach,” Josie breathes in terror.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan murmurs quietly, her voice low.

“He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes,” Leliana says quickly, stepping closer to the window.

The Breach—as wild and angry as it was that day I woke up in Haven—coils and whirls once more, unchecked, untamed. I stare, horrified, as its edges spread, clouds darkening and hugging the vortex of its center.

“You either close the Breach once more,” Morrigan says, “or it swallows the world.”

“But that’s _madness_!” Josie gasps. “Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

“It seems he is beyond caring,” Leliana mutters after a moment of silence.

Cullen looks down at me. “Suledin,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically anxious, “we—have no forces to send with you—we must wait for them to return from the Arbor Wilds.”

“He knows that,” I reply, clenching my left hand into a fist. Fire rakes down my skin, making me gasp again. My visions blurs with its intensity, and I realize the glove made me complacent. I grip my wrist again and back up to the door quickly. “Leliana, Cullen—get whatever soldiers or agents you can together—meet me at the gates—hurry, please. Morrigan—”

“I’ll be ready, Inquisitor.”

I run down the hall and through Josephine’s office, but I stop when I hit the door to the main hall. I take a breath, nodding to myself before I wrench the door open and stride into the hall with a forced confidence. The nobles visiting Skyhold are crying and clinging to each other, gasping and murmuring anxiously.

“Everything’s alright,” I call loudly, my voice low and successfully authoritative. “Come inside, everyone. Skyhold is your shelter. You will not be harmed here. Cassandra—” She rushes to me, holding her sword still on her belt. “Find Varric, Solas, Bull, and Blackwall—meet me by the gates.”

“Yes,” she gasps, turning and running again. “Solas!” I hear her call, pushing into his study as I pass quickly. I head outside and down the stairs quickly, waving to those in the courtyard.

“Get everyone inside,” I call to the few guards here. “It’s alright, everyone! Everything is alright. You will be safe in Skyhold.”

“Inquisitor!” one of the agents exclaims. “What—what do we do?”

I look at him to see his terrified eyes. “Stay here,” I decide. “Protect the others in the hall. Make sure they’re safe. Inside, everyone!” I call again, waving them past me. They run up the steps, nearly colliding with Varric and Cassandra. Solas follows them quickly, and I look away, taking the rest of the stairs down swiftly.

“Inquisitor!” Blackwall shouts, waving me over to the lower courtyard. I take those stairs so quickly I almost trip, catching myself on the stone wall. “The horses are being saddled.”

I nod at him, shaking my hand out. Bull gives out orders professionally and calmly to his Chargers, heading over to us with Krem. 

“Suledin,” Solas calls softly.

I glance back at him, and he hands me my staff, his eyes worried. “Thank you,” I reply quietly, looking down. “Cassandra, get them to open the gates. Is everyone ready?”

“Yes,” Cassandra nods breathlessly, waving at the guards.

“We’re with you, Snow,” Varric nods.

“Then let’s go.”

***

All the horses are heaving after days of riding, and another night has fallen by the time we finally reach the ruins of the Temple. I gasp breathlessly as I throw my reins around a destroyed tree and run forward. Overhead, the Breach has grown to encompass most of the sky, and fear grips me even as I run forward. My hand aches inside the glove, but I don’t dare take it off. Green lightning streaks through the clouds brilliantly. Rocks are pulled up from the ground, hovering in the sky unnaturally. Red lyrium spikes up from the mountains surrounding us, pulsing vibrantly.

An explosion shakes the ground, tripping me. Blackwall catches my arm, and I nod at him gratefully before running faster. We burst through the ruins of the Temple to see several agents and soldiers lying on the ground, clutching their legs or shoulders or chests; several more battle against demons. Cassandra catches one of the terror demons before it reaches me, stabbing it through the middle before powerfully casting it aside.

Corypheus stands over my men, his eyes tight with hatred when he sees me. I expect the usual thrill of fear to rush through me, to stagger me, but after everything, all I feel is anger.

_I knew you would come_.

“Glad I didn’t disappoint,” I call, glaring at him. “This ends now.”

_And so it shall._

His hands burst with red energy, and he raises them slowly. The ground beneath our feet crumbles and breaks apart. Scout Harding slips away from me, and I try to grab her, but she falls to the ground below. Agents and soldiers watch, horrified, along with Cullen, Leliana, Dorian, Bull, Krem, and the rest of the Chargers. They call up to me in alarm, and I turn around to face Corypheus again. Solas, Cass, Varric, and Blackwall stand alongside me, each of us gripping our weapons tightly as Corypheus pulls the ground under the Temple of Sacred Ashes up into the sky.

The air gets thinner the higher we climb, making me lightheaded. The Breach flares blindingly overhead, and I try to keep myself oriented as the Temple rises into the clouds.

_You have been most successful in foiling my plans but let us not forget what you are._

“Yeah?” I mutter. “What’s that?”

_A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat._

I glare at him. “I think that says more about you than me,” I reply quickly.

Corypheus' expression grows lethal. _We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood. In my time, we called your people rattus. You are nothing; a race of sniveling cowards that shrank before Tevinter power._

Rage races through me. “Okay, I was already going to kill you, but now it’s personal,” I mutter back. “By the way, you talk _way _too much.”

Corypheus glares again, raising his hand. I wait for something to come rushing at me or for my hand to flare up, but instead, his dragon crawls over the top of the Temple. It stares at me, its eyes dead and horrifying, and then it lunges. Someone pulls me back to the ground, but before the dragon can reach us, another dragon crashes into Corypheus’, purple scales glinting in the light as the dragons tumble over the edge of the Temple and drop.

“Morrigan!” I gasp in awe.

The dragons rise into the air, soaring over the Temple again, scratching, clawing, roaring.

“Ha!” I laugh idiotically, smirking at Corypheus. I realize it was Solas that pulled me aside when he helps me back up. I glance at him and then look back at Corypheus, spinning my staff once.

_You dare_, his voice seethes. He thrusts his hand at me, and I block the boulder he launches at me with an ice wall. _A dragon. How clever of you. _He throws something else at me, and I manage to catch it—barely. _It will avail you nothing! _I miss the last one, but it slams into a shimmering barrier before hitting the ground. I glance back at Solas to see him holding it up. My chest tightens, and I glare at Corypheus, summoning a lightning storm over him. It buys the others enough time to lunge forward. _You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my divine will._

“Do you _ever _shut up?” I demand breathlessly, throwing a fireball at him. He catches it with a growl, his blackened skin sizzling before he throws it back. I dive to the left, rolling once and slamming into the stone wall gracelessly. I scramble back up to see Cass rush at Corypheus. He dodges her sword, kicking her back across the field between us. She lands hard, spits an alarming amount of blood, and then kicks off the ground again, running towards the darkspawn.

Blackwall joins her, and they move to flank Corypheus while Solas hurls Fade rocks at him, each one the size of a horse. Corypheus finally throws a shield up around himself angrily to block the assault.

_Enough! I will destroy you where you stand._

I throw a fireball at him as soon as he drops the shield, following it up immediately with a ball of electricity. He catches the fire but misses the lightning. He roars again, his arm jerking from the hit. He grabs Blackwall and throws him aside.

I stare in horror as Blackwall hits a wall and doesn’t get back up. I scream his name, but he still doesn’t stir.

_You think to best me with your feeble magicks? You’re nothing! All you love will be ground under the Imperium’s heel._

I thrust my staff forward, letting loose a powerful force that pushes Cass away from Corypheus when he tries to grab her, too. He tries a second time, and I push her again. She falls and rises, gripping her shield. She tries to nullify Corypheus, and he laughs, the sound eerie and loud before he lunges at her. I throw up a firewall between them, and he yanks his sizzling hand back, finding and glaring at me from across the field.

He pushes off the ground, rushing at me. The dragons soar overhead, Corypheus' landing hard on its back on the stone between us. The aftershock breaks off part of the Temple's wall, and it goes crashing back down to the earth below. The dragon picks itself back up and lunges at Morrigan in the sky, and they disappear once more under the Temple, their roars echoing across the sky.

Corypheus reaches for me, but his clawed fingers slam against a solid barrier wall. I look hurriedly over to see Solas maintaining it, his expression focused and hard as he glares at Corypheus. With the time he’s given me, I mutter quickly, pulling down a bolt of lightning with all my strength. It slams into the ground beneath Corypheus’ feet, staggering him. He roars angrily, reeling back several steps. Electricity dances down his arms and legs, burning into his skin and scorching his bones.

_You! _he roars in my head, reaching for me again. He throws a hand in Solas’ direction, knocking him back, and then he’s dragging me by my arm with him. _All my plans—after all my waiting—you will not destroy me. I refuse to be defeated by the likes of you. Your people were _ants _under the Imperium, as you are an ant under me. _He throws me at a temple wall, and I grunt, the air rushing from my lunges as I collapse on the ground, dropping my staff.

“Ants are…pretty cool,” I say weakly, clutching my ribs. “So…thank you…”

_Enough! _He grabs my arm again, picking my up like I weigh nothing. My shoulder strains in its socket, and I gasp, trying to kick at him and missing. His eyes gleam greedily as he stares at me, cocking his head. _After all you’ve spoiled, I will enjoy watching you suffer. _He raises his other hand into a curled fist, presumably to kill me, but before he can, a sword thrusts through his chest and blue energy slams into him, forcing him away from me. Cassandra catches me when I drop, and I look up quickly to see Corypheus stagger to his hands and knees, blue energy surrounding and twisting through him. He growls, shaking as he tries to fight whatever is happening to him. 

Corypheus’ dragon and Morrigan soar over us once more, their screeches deafening me. They collide with a tower, knocking it down roughly. Morrigan separates from the other dragon, flying high above us. She rises nearly to the Breach and then turns, plummeting back down. She collides with the other dragon in a powerful crash. They fall through the air, biting and clawing, their wings flailing as they fight. The dragon’s claws suddenly stab into Morrigan’s stomach, and she screeches. I watch in horror as it kicks her off. She drops and hits the ground hard, rolling and taking parts of the Temple with her before she finally comes to a sliding stop a dozen feet from us. She shifts into her human form, clutching her stomach as blood runs through her fingers. She starts to rise and then falls immobile.

I try to run to her, but Corypheus’ dragon roars and lands between us, its tail flicking impatiently as its tongue lashes out between its teeth. With another roar, the dragon releases a fiery breath, red energy spewing from it venomously. Cass throws me to the left, landing beside me as we avoid the flames. I look up sharply when I catch a flicker of movement. Blackwall sits up, holding his ribs. He looks up to see the dragon, and then he grabs his sword, standing shakily. Cass grabs hers again, and I find my staff. Varric and Solas, I realize with a swell of relief, are on the other side of the dragon, but its focus is primarily on me.

“Get away from me!” I exclaim hurriedly, pushing Cass away. “I’ll distract it!”

“No!” she roars, trying to grab me. I swing my staff, pushing her back several feet before tossing a fireball at the dragon. It explodes under the beast’s eye, and the dragon screeches angrily, snapping at me. I duck and roll under its head, jerking the end of my staff up to its neck. I roll again quickly when it tries to swipe me away. Cass and Blackwall flank it, slashing at its legs. It screams in protest, aiming another fiery breath at me. I jerk back, throwing a shield around myself swiftly to deflect the flames. I conjure several ice daggers as quickly as I can and throw them at the creature’s neck.

It shrieks again loudly, swinging its tail around. It hits Blackwall hard across the chest, knocking him down. He stands quickly, rushing to the beast with a wordless roar. I aim another fireball at its eyes before it can retaliate. The resulting shriek rumbles in its chest, deafening me. It lifts itself off the ground, swiping at me. I try to dodge, but its claws hook on my robes. A grunt is pulled from me as it lifts me high off the ground, and I drop my staff, struggling to free myself before we get too high.

“_Suledin_!” Cassandra screams.

I fight with the dragons’ talons. It tightens its grip on me, crushing my ribs as it rises to the Breach. Sense reasserts itself, and I thrust my hand up, throwing a fireball at the dragon’s ribs. It explodes on contact, and it screeches in response, releasing me.

I realize immediately what an _awful _idea that was when I plummet back down. My hair jerks out of its braid, fanning up past me and blinding me. I try to roll over to catch myself, but the wind presses against me as the air is yanked out of my lungs, suffocating and panicking me. I close my eyes, wincing as I prepare to hit the solid stone, and I grunt when I hit something else. What little air I had left is pulled from me in a gasping cough, and I open my eyes to see myself suspending a foot from the ground. I glance over to see Solas’ hands extended, holding me in midair. He lowers me gently, and I gasp for air, nodding gratefully as Cass and Varric run over to me.

“Snow! Snow, are you alright?!”

I nod again, coughing as I stand back up. “Look out!” I croak, pushing them all back when the dragon lands again. It flicks Blackwall out of the way, and he hits the ground hard again, staying down. Cass stands with her shield in front of me, making herself a wall between me and the dragon.

“Go!” I call. “I’ll distract it again. It can’t last much longer!”

“No, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replies firmly.

“Cass, please, _go_!” I repeat, pushing her. I run around the front of the dragon before she can respond, dodging its claws. I move under its chest, thrusting my staff up to its ribs and dragging my blade as far as I can. The dragon roars and swipes at me again. I roll, barely avoiding its claws as I stab its neck.

Cass runs to the other side, lunging her blade into the other side of the dragon’s throat. It gives an awful screech that makes me feel disgusting for what I’m doing as blood pools at our feet. I knock its head aside when it swivels towards us to breathe fire, and I stab it again, lodging my staff as deep as I can with a somewhat sobbing grunt, my muscles screaming in protest as my stomach recoils from harming this creature. The dragon jerks back, giving one last terrible scream before it huffs and collapses on its side, shaking the ground beneath our feet. I fall to my hands and knees, gasping. I look up in time to see a ball of red energy pull from the beast’s chest and zip across the field to a balcony above. It shifts into Corypheus, and he staggers against the railing, bent at the waist. He stands tall again and holds up his hand, revealing the foci. My eyes widen at it, rage once again replacing the weakness I feel.

I scramble to my feet, grab my staff, and run to and up the stairs.

“Wait, Inquisitor!” Cass exclaims breathlessly, chasing after me.

_Let it end here! Let the skies boil! Let the world be rent asunder!_

Rocks crash down from the Breach above, green lightning slamming and crashing into the ground with increased frequency. I look up to see the Breach expanding again, consuming more of the sky—no time; I have no time. Fear grips me, and I push myself harder, climbing and tripping up the stairs as fast as I can, avoiding boulders as they crash down from the Fade above.

I reach the top where Corypheus waits, and I run at him breathlessly.

“No, Inquisitor!” Cass calls.

“Suledin, _stop_!” Solas shouts.

I look up to see the foci hovering over Corypheus, red energy jerking around it wildly like lightning. I realize too late that it’s building up to something, magic humming in the air. The energy explodes, and I fly backwards, hitting the ground hard and rolling. A sobbing grunt is ripped from me at the ache in my hand and the abuse from the stone beneath me. 

“Suledin!” Solas exclaims, reaching me first. He helps me to my feet, his fingers gripping my arms. I glare at Corypheus, dizzy and weakened. I pull away from Solas, grab my staff, and scramble forwards again, thrusting ice daggers at the Corypheus as I go. Cass runs beside me, and I rush to the darkspawn magister, dodging his fist. I stab him with my staff, throwing myself into a dive when he tries to swing at me. I kneel up and stab him again in the side. The foci flares over him brilliantly, and I throw my hand up when it explodes again. I slide against the stone, skinning my shins against the concrete through the leggings of my armor. Cass flies backwards, hitting a wall hard before she rises again. I scramble to my feet, and the foci lashes out again, the magic around it powerful, strong, and unrelenting.

I pull down lightning, but I miss where I’m aiming, and the bolt slams into the foci with an audible clap. The red energy explodes a fourth time, and I fly back, my hips crashing into the ground. I cry out, gripping my waist before I pull myself to my feet again as Cass staggers forward. She thrusts her sword at Corypheus, but he catches it and tosses it aside. Warrior that she is, she’s not even phased. She knocks the back of his leg with her shield, and he falls to one knee. I run forward to join her, thrusting my staff through his chest. He growls, reaching up for the foci over him. An arrow stabs through his wrist, and he cries out wordlessly, bringing his hand down.

_Not like this! I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages!_

He pushes me off and swings at Cass. She goes flying, and I scream her name, grabbing my staff again. Corypheus kicks me away, reaching the foci. Its energy flickers loudly against his hand, bolts of red electricity lashing out of control. I land hard several feet away, and I flinch when my left hand hits the ground, aching even more. I clench it into a fist, looking up at Corypheus as his voice fills my mind again.

_Dumat! Ancient ones! I beseech you! If you exist—if you ever _truly _existed—aid me now!_

He struggles with the foci, trying to tame it as it jerks in his hands. I raise my hand to the orb, feeling the Anchor connect with it powerfully. It yanks me forward, pulling me down to my knees. I rise to my feet slowly, seeing the color of the orb shift slowly, green tendrils licking through the red ones, overpowering them. My connection grows stronger, the ache in my hand overwhelming. The foci tears out of Corypheus' hands, jerking through his chest on its path to my hand. I catch it and then scream. Pain lances up my arm, singeing my skin and cracking through my bones. Solas calls my name, his voice alarmingly terrified. I barely hear it over the sound of the foci roaring in my ears.

Corypheus falls to his knees, staring at me. I glance at the orb in my fingers, its green power surging brilliantly, and then I thrust it up into the sky at the Breach. I close my eyes briefly and then glare at the rift in the Veil. Another scream rips out of me as the foci glows, energy flashing up to the sky. My hand quakes, and I hold my wrist still with my other fingers, feeling the energy pulled from me far too quickly. 

Before I can lose myself, I feel my will draw from someone else's, and I look over wildly, my chest so tight I can barely breathe, to see Solas staring at the foci, his expression intent. His magic blends with mine once more, the melody of it harmonizing perfectly with mine. My eyes flood as I raise my hand higher, gritting my teeth at the pain of it all. Energy hums loudly, spasming and flaring. The Breach and the foci explode at the same moment, and I scream, dropping my hand as the foci shatters in the air and falls to the ground. Fire licks up my wrist, and tears stream down my cheeks as I grip it, searching for the flames that I know aren’t there. I look up to see the Breach seal itself quietly, disappearing once more. A cry is pulled from me in relief, and I look down at Corypheus as he stares in horror at the sky.

Rocks slam and crash into the ground around us, and I feel the Temple fall slowly back down to the earth, its fall contradictorily controlled. I approach Corypheus as he spasms and jerks on his knees.

“You wanted into the Fade?” I demand hoarsely, raising my left hand again. Green fire flickers across my arm, and I tear the Veil open one last time. Corypheus lets out a roar as the rift pulls him through. My hand shakes and quivers, and I cry out again, holding my wrist still. Corypheus’ nails scratch against the stone as he’s dragged into the Fade, and then he’s gone. I close my hand, forcing the Veil back together again.

I fall to my knees, and then the whole Temple plummets back down to the earth more quickly.

Air whips past me, and I expect the fall to kill us, but we hit the ground hard, somehow alive. I roll several feet, catching myself, relieved to see the mountains where they should be. I look around and spot Blackwall rise. He reaches Morrigan, pulling her to her feet gently as she winces and clutches her side. Varric helps Cassandra up, and I look around wildly for Solas.

He walks forward slowly, his eyes fixated on the foci. Pain rips through me at the devastation etched in his eyes. He drops to one knee slowly, picking up a fractured remnant of the foci, looking lost and broken. He holds the piece up, his breath falling from him in one slow motion.

“Solas,” I gasp, staggering forward to him. I reach for him hesitantly, pulling my fingers back at the last second.

“The orb,” he whispers.

“I’m so sorry,” I reply, tears slipping down my cheeks from pain and exhaustion and heartache. “I know you wanted the orb saved. I’m so sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” he answers softly. He sets the piece of the foci down and stands slowly. He turns to me, his expression so pained that it makes me cry more.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” I whisper. 

He gives me such a profound look that I weaken, my chest aching more than anything else. “It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmurs mournfully, his voice ripping through me like a knife. He closes his eyes, looking down. “No matter what comes…” His eyes find mine again, a desperate note in his expression. “I want you to know that what we had was _real_.”

“Solas,” I cry, my chest tightening painfully.

“I’m so sorry, vhenan,” he breathes, his eyes tortured.

The name pulls a quiet sob from me, and I nearly reach for him. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra calls, her voice low. “Are you alive?”

I look at Solas, feeling anguished as he watches me, and then I step back slowly, my chest aching. I wipe my cheeks shakily as I walk to a flight of stairs, peering down to see them all. Morrigan stands alongside Blackwall, holding her side and wincing as she looks up at me. Bull and Krem stand together with Cullen and Leliana. Varric and Cassandra mount the stairs quickly, coming to my side as Sera, Cole, and dozens of soldiers stare up at me.

“Victorious, I see,” Morrigan says. “What a novel result.”

Cass smiles up at me, exhaustion and relief weighing down her shoulders. “And you survived. Thank the Maker.”

“And it seems the Breach is finally closed,” Morrigan adds. 

I nod slowly.

“What do we do now?” Cass wonders.

I look behind me to find Solas gone. Pain whips through me again so powerfully that I grip my ribs. A whispered sob slips through my teeth, unheard. The foci lays broken, scattered against the stone, and I close my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks more. Varric moves a hand to my arm, looking around.

I turn back to the others, everything in me aching and throbbing. “We go back home,” I murmur thickly, “to Skyhold.”


	58. No More Did the Old Gods Whisper

The trip back to Skyhold takes significantly longer. Harding, several of the agents, and a great number of my team go ahead of us, but Blackwall, Cass, and I are too wounded, drained, and beaten down to travel. We set up camp outside of the Valley of Sacred Ashes, and there we slowly recuperate. Blackwall’s head injuries are severe enough to require healing by Dorian. Cass broke her wrist and two of her ribs, and I try my hardest to heal her myself, but I’m too drained after the fight to be much use. I rest in the medical tent alongside the others, rolled over onto my side away from them.

Solas didn’t come to camp with us, and no one has seen him since the night we defeated Corypheus. I sent Cullen and Leliana ahead to Skyhold, and though they argued, they eventually left us.

For days, we rest in the camp, and then when we’re feeling well enough to travel, we make our way slowly back to Skyhold. A blizzard delays us by two weeks, and soldiers meet us on the path from Skyhold with supplies and tents to weather the storm.

By the time we're walking down the stone bridge to Skyhold, I make a silent promise to not leave again for at least a solid month, preferably longer. The others tried to speak with me several times about what happened, and I regret to say that I was resistant to communicate. I know I worried them greatly. I slept a lot, hoping that perhaps I could walk the Fade, but I never learned how to fully control my dreams, and my limitations grieve me further.

I’m the last one in through the gates to Skyhold, my shoulders and spirits low. The others turn back to me, and I glance up to see them grinning broadly. I frown briefly, confused before I step walk into the lower courtyard.

“She’s here!” someone gasps excitedly, and then the entire courtyard erupts in a round of applause.

I stare in shock at all those gathered, all clapping and cheering. Dorian and Varric blend into the ground, joining the celebration. I see Krem and the Chargers hooting loudly, and Bull hollers, his claps ringing out sharply over the others. Our mages and templars, our soldiers and agents, our healers and blacksmiths—everyone is gathered, their applause deafening. My eyes flood at the overwhelming display, and I glance up to see Cullen, Josie, and Leliana grinning down at me from the platform on the stairs—the same place I was named Inquisitor so many months ago.

I smile with difficulty, touched and awed by the crowd. Emotion overwhelms me, and I raise a hand to my mouth, laughing as I cry. Dorian comes through the crowd, wrapping his arm around me, and he walks with me through the crowd, rubbing my shoulder. Cass smiles at me broadly, her expression warm and happy. Dorian leads me to the stairs and then stops, grinning at me. I mount them myself as Inquisition soldiers bow their heads and drop to one knee. I can barely see well enough to walk, and I wipe at my cheeks swiftly. When I reach the landing on the stairs, my advisors turn and grin at me. Cullen and Leliana bow, and Josephine curtsies deeply. Warmth floods my chest, and I gasp, a whispered laugh breaks through my teeth as I smile at them. Cullen reaches for me, and I shake his hand. He places his other fingers on my shoulder, guiding me to the edge of the stairs.

I look down at the crowd as they applaud and holler, their expressions delighted and relieved. Cass gives me a proud smile, and that makes more tears flood my vision. I feel a little shaky, and I wave once, perhaps stupidly. Dorian and Varric whistle, hollering my name, and I laugh weakly.

My team begins moving up the stairs behind me, and I turn to greet them. Bull gives me a huge hug, shaking me violently enough to make me dizzy. Dorian gives me a warm embrace, kissing my cheek before he moves up with Bull to the main hall. Varric pats my arm and winks at me. Sera offers two thumbs up and a goofy grin. Blackwall smirks at me warmly, giving me a firm pat as he passes. Cole offers a sweet smile, his eyes bright with enthusiasm as he passes. Cassandra takes my hand in both of hers to shake it. She nods once, her eyes proud and warm, and I smile at her broadly as she passes, my heart hammering erratically in my ears.

They all move up the stairs to the main hall, and I turn back to wave hesitantly at the crowd again as they continue to cheer. Cullen gives a quiet laugh, patting my shoulder, and I look up at him and then over at Josie and Leliana. The insane urge overwhelms me, and I go to Josie first, hugging her tightly. She laughs, bells ringing in my ear as she sways me slightly. Cullen’s arms hesitate before completely enveloping me when I go to him, and he rubs my back familiarly. Leliana gives a quiet chuckle, murmuring a quiet congratulations in my ear as she accepts my hug.

I take another moment to give an awkward wave at the crowd, and then Leliana leans over to me. “A moment, my lady,” she murmurs, patting my arm.

I nod and follow her up the stairs, wiping my eyes. Cullen and Josie move with us, entering the main hall as we linger just outside.

“My agents have found no trace of Solas,” Leliana says quietly. My smile fades, and I nod, my eyes filling again for another reason entirely. “He has simply vanished. If he does not wish to be found, there’s likely nothing we can do. But I will keep looking.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” I say softly, looking at the ground as my tears fall. I wipe them away swiftly. “I appreciate that.” 

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” she replies. “I know the two of you were close…Perhaps he had no choice. He might return at any moment.”

I nod loosely, but neither of us believes that. “Could you…do me a favor, Leliana?”

“Name it, Inquisitor.”

“Can you…” I hesitate and then look up at her. “Can you make sure no one touches his study?”

“Yes,” she nods, her eyes softer. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you.”

“For now, however, Josie has given weeks and several headaches to planning this,” she murmurs, her voice lighter. She gestures for me to head into the hall, and I see an enormous feast has begun. I smile faintly, seeing the others talk and laugh as they eat and drink, the hall emptied of everyone but my team, advisors, and several guards. “Now that Corypheus is defeated,” Leliana continues, waving at two guards to close the doors behind us, “we have a moment to stop and celebrate. Afterwards, you will be busy. Every noble in southern Thedas is clamoring to meet you.”

“What? Why?” I wonder.

Leliana chuckles. “You are joking, yes? They wish to bask in the glory of your victory, of course, hoping that some of it will rub off on them.”

I chuckle softly, wiping my eyes. “Ah.”

“Everyone knows Empress Celene owes you her life and her throne. A thousand problems remain, and your opinion will be sought on each one—whether you wish to give it or not. Josie has made it clear that the Chantry wishes to meet with you to discuss the next Divine, and there are countless other matters.”

I roll my eyes, huffing. “_Now_ they’re eager for my opinion.”

She grins. “Such is the way of things. Previously, you were an upstart—a Dalish mage, of all things—leading rebels and heretics. Until Corypheus revealed himself, they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. Once he did, they knew: a magister and a darkspawn in one creature. The ultimate evil. Now, _you _are the only power left standing.” She smiles at me again. “But that is another matter. Tonight is a celebration. Enjoy the evening while you can, Inquisitor.”

She walks through the hall, calling one of the guards over. I see her talk to him briefly, and then he goes to stand in front of the door to the atrium, his hands folded.

I see Bull and Krem together laughing and drinking, and the others are scattered around various tables. The hall is filled with a waterfall of voices, each laugh interrupting the punchline to another joke. The sight warms my chest, and I feel an overwhelming relief that staggers me. For a long moment, all I can do is simply stand there, watching over them all with a surge of pride and love.

Cullen glances up from where he's talking with Josie. He smiles at me and then comes over, holding the sword at his waist still as he walks. “Am I imagining it,” he muses, stopping at my side, “or do we actually have a moment to breathe?”

I chuckle quietly, playing with my fingers. “I think we must be imagining it.”

He smirks, looking around the room with a small shake of his head. “The Conclave, Haven…it seems so long ago.”

“I known exactly what you mean.”

He turns his smirk to me, resting his hands on his sword pommel. “You should hear the stories they’re telling in the barracks, the _pride _in their voices. Some of the soldiers have requested leave to return home, but many would follow us still. You are proof that the Inquisition has made a difference—and that we will continue to do so.”

I shake my head, moving my hands behind my back casually. “Our soldiers put their trust in _you_, Cullen. I can never express my gratitude for everything you’ve done.”

“_I_ should be thanking _you_,” he breathes, his eyes finding mine sincerely. “You gave me a chance to…to prove myself. In your place…I’m not sure I would have done the same.”

I move my hand to his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Cullen,” I say firmly. “And an excellent commander. I would have been sorely lacking without your guidance.”

He gives me a warm smile, shaking his head softly. “I don’t believe that for a second, but thank you. I should let you mingle. I’m sure everyone desires your attention.”

I snort and roll my eyes, moving my hand behind my back again.

“Enjoy the party, Inquisitor. You deserve a moment of respite.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” I murmur quietly, nodding at him warmly as he leaves.

I lean against the wall beside me, thinking and watching the others celebrate. My eyes travel to Solas’ door. I wonder if the guard would let me in.

Before I can find out, Blackwall looks up from his chair and grins at me, standing swiftly and walking over to me.

“All this pomp and ceremony?” he muses, leaning against the wall beside me. “Can’t top seeing that bastard Corypheus burn.”

“How are your ribs?”

“Much better,” he nods, patting his side. “No matter what happens to me now, I can say I was there, that I help you bring him down.”

“And lived to tell the tale,” I muse. “That’s the best part.”

He chuckles richly. “I shudder to think where we’d be without you leading us.”

I snort, a several witty responses coming to mind, though I keep them to myself.

He glances at me. “So, now that you’ve saved the world, what’s next? Hopin’ to put it all back together again?”

“Eh, might as well, I guess,” I shrug indifferently.

Blackwall laughs again, the sound rumbling from his chest. “If anyone can do it, you can. If you ever need me, you know where to find me. I’ll be ready.”

“Thank you, Blackwall,” I murmur, looking at him seriously.

“Thank _you_, my lady. You saw past the…” He sighs. “You saw past the lies, and you put your trust in me. I swear to you, I won’t ever betray that again.”

“You never have, Blackwall,” I promise. “I’m honored to have you by my side.”

“Go on, then,” he smiles. “Don’t waste the night talking to me. You’ve got better things to do with your time. Grab a drink, have some food—I recommend the rice lombard for you and the cornichons.”

I laugh and pat his shoulder as I move off the wall. I grab a plate of cheese and grapes to start with, sighing at the divine quality. I hesitate when the simple food reminds me of the Winter Palace, and my chest pinches. I set the plate down, making myself instead a bowl of the rice lombard Blackwall mentioned. I sense myself spiraling into thoughts I want to avoid, so I take my food over to Varric, sitting beside him. 

“Ah, Snow, just the person I wanted to see. Nice spread, eh?” he muses.

I hum in agreement, spooning some of the rice into my mouth. I sigh, closing my eyes briefly. The flavor is exquisite, and it renders me speechless.

“I’ve been starting to think about putting all this into a book,” Varric admits after several moments, glancing at me.

“Ooh,” I hum, swallowing quickly. “What’s it gonna be called?”

“I was thinking, _This Shit Is Weird: The Inquisitor Lavellan Story._”

I laugh loudly, choking on my drink.

He grins as he watches me clear my throat. “You like it? It’s a working title.”

“It’s perfect,” I chuckle. “I’m glad you’re going back to writing.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “nothing’s _certain _until it’s in print, but…”

“I look forward to my own signed copy of _This Shit Is Weird_.”

He laughs. “I still haven’t completely decided. As if anyone will believe this story if I tell it. Not to mention, I’ll have my hands full with reconstruction and relief efforts in the Free Marchers as soon as I get back.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can to help with that,” I reply seriously. “I know Kirkwall was hit hard.”

He sighs in agreement. “Yeah, it’s in pretty bad shape. A lot of other city-states are, too. I’m not leaving for a while yet, though, so don’t worry, Snow. We still have to get in at least one more game of Wicked Grace before I go.”

I laugh in agreement and then groan. “If I lose any more money to Josie, I might as well just pay her outright before we sit down.”

Varric gives a hearty laugh. “I need to see you and Curly redeem _some_ modicum of your dignity before I can even think of leaving.”

I smirk at him. “Well, on _that _note, I’m going to make the rounds.”

“Sure, sure—oh! Avoid the cornichons—I’m serious.”

I laugh at the conflicting recommendations and nod. I turn around to Krem and Bull.

“Your Worship!” Krem greets with a grin. “How are you?”

“Well,” I smile. “And you?”

“Doin’ just fine,” he replies. “That fight was something else. Well done out there.”

Bull shakes his head. “Demons, dragons, giant asshole Vint on a big magic rock? You don’t let it get dull, boss.” He smirks. “Good stuff.”

“Glad I kept you entertained.”

“Oh yeah—terrified, sometimes, sure, but—” He slaps Krem’s shoulder, making the man spill his drink. I laugh when Krem sighs heavily at him, though his expression seems more irritated at himself for not predicting the move. “—long as I got my boys, I’m good for whatever you need, boss. Corypheus was a busy guy. We’re with you for whatever cleanup work you need done.”

“Thank you, Bull. I really appreciate that.”

He glances at Krem as the man sighs a second time, mopping up his drink. “I owe you a lot,” Bull says, looking up at me. “So…seriously—anything you need, I’m your guy.”

I smile at him softly, nodding as I move my hand to his shoulder. “Can I get you another drink, Krem?” I offer. “I’m heading that way anyway.”

“No, no, Your Worship. That’s alright, thank you. Enjoy the feast. It’s for _you_, after all.”

I shake my head. “It’s for _you _and everyone who made this possible. I couldn’t have done it without you all.”

“Classic leader shit,” Bull teases.

I roll my eyes. “Enjoy the party, _Krem_,” I say, glancing pointedly at Bull as he laughs.

I pluck a few cheese cubes off Bull's plate as he smirks at me and turn, seeing Cole enthusiastically sitting on one of the tables. “They are _happy_,” he says with a delighted sigh when I reach him. “Happy, hoping, _healing_. _You _made it possible.” He grins at me. “You _helped_.”

“_You _helped, Cole,” I correct, sitting beside him. “All these people…You did just as much as I did—more so.”

“I was able to remain here because of you. You saved me. Thank you for letting my stay,” he murmurs, his voice so sincere that I want to squeeze him.

“I have to walk away before I hug you.”

He grins, a quick laugh tumbling out of him as he looks around again.

“Finally got a party, yeah?” Sera muses, coming over to me and Cole. She shoves a drink and several plates out of her way so she can sit on the edge. “A bit'a fun for savin’ the world. It’s the least Andraste’s Herald deserves for makin' things normal again. Except for, y’know, everythin’ ever again. I mean, is this for us or for Her? Or, y’know, _Him_? Because I was there, ‘n I still don’t know what’s real.”

“That makes two of us,” I sigh.

“What, you’re not gonna fight me on Mythal instead of Andraste?” she teases. “Have you gone daft?”

“Honestly,” I muse, “I don’t know what to believe anymore. They could be the same person for all I know.”

“Wha?” she laughs. “That’s just balmy. Don’t confuse me even more.”

I laugh, elbowing her.

“Hey…” She grows suddenly serious, looking down. She gives a heavy sigh, playing with the end of her long tunic. “Look, I don’t _like _real things, y’know? That pish is for idiots, but…” She sighs again and grabs someone's mug. I raise my eyebrows as she downs it quickly and reaches for another.

“Uh...Sera?”

She holds up a finger at me, drinking sloppily. She drops the mug, wiping at her chin before she sighs a third time. “Tha’s better…Look, I just wanted to say—I didn’t like that Solas—he’s too elfy for me, 'n I’m not sorry he’s gone, but…I _am _sorry that he…y’know…left you. Wha’ever else…you didn’t deserve that, yeah?”

I stare at her, my chest tightening. “I—thank you, Sera. That’s…”

“Yeah? We good? Alright. I need another drink. Also, there’s still things to do, yeah? Because I’m in no hurry to go back to…” She squints, searching. “Val Royeaux,” she says, nodding. “That’s where I was. So, you mind if people still stay around? For…wha’ever?”

“This is home,” I reply, “if you’ll have it.”

She punches my arm _hard_. “Shut it, you. I cry, I’m punchin’ everyone. Big frigging heroes, Inquisitor. All of us.”

I grin at her, rubbing what will soon become a very large bruise as she jumps off the table and saunters over to Blackwall, stealing his mug as he laughs. I pat Cole’s shoulder and move over to Dorian as he drinks at the table down from Bull. 

“I was passing through the hall this morning,” he muses, “and a serving girl saw me and _squealed_. Actually _squealed_. Dropped her laundry and everything. Such a mess.”

I laugh and sit on the table beside him. He grins at me as he moves his drink to the other side to make room. “Well,” I hum, “you _are _a dashing hero.”

“Naturally, but she was completely breathless! ‘You were at the battle with the Evil One, weren’t you?’” His imitation of her makes me laugh again. “I didn’t even get a chance to answer! She hugged me. _Hugged me_.” He glares playfully at me. “This is your influence.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a big ol’ hero,” I sigh helplessly.

Dorian snorts. “Oh, is it? Must be why it’s so unfamiliar.”

I shove his shoulder, smirking at him.

“Mind you, I can’t say I _hate _the notion of being ‘the good Tevinter.’ ‘I suppose you can’t _all _be evil bastards.’ The blacksmith said that, and he _spat _when we first met.”

I grin at him, giggling once.

“I hope my father hears of this. He will shit his smallclothes from shock, I swear.”

I laugh again. “You’re a wonderful example of how noble Tevinter could be. You’ve certainly inspired me.”

“As you have inspired me,” he says so sincerely that my eyes sting.

“Shut up, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Dorian grins. “Then prepare your handkerchief, darling, because I’ve decided to stay with the Inquisition for now.”

I make a show of pretending to cry, and he gives me an amused smirk. “But seriously,” I murmur, “you’ll stay?”

“Tevinter lacks the presence of my best and only friend. It’ll keep.”

This time, I really do cry. My eyes flood, and I lean over to hug Dorian tightly. He rubs my back, chuckling once. “Thank you, Dorian,” I murmur, kissing his cheek as I pull away. “I’m leaving before you make me cry more.”

“Best be on the safe side,” he agrees with a smirk.

I laugh quietly and take a mug delicately from one of the caterers as he passes. I move down the hall, sipping it slowly, and I hear Josie talking to herself as she looks over the party.

“No, no, not there,” she sighs, speaking so softly that I barely hear her. She winces as a waiter across the hall from her sets a plate of sandwiches next to a plate of mini cakes. “That’s…oh dear, and now they’re falling…Oh…I never should have hired new caterers so late. What a mess this is making.”

“Josie, Josie,” I laugh, moving my hand to her shoulder. “It’s all _exceptional_.”

She sighs again. “It’s a disaster. The sommelier was _late, _the invitations to our guests _barely _went out at all, and—and—” She sighs a third time with a smile. “And it was so _wonderful_ to prepare for small banquet instead of the end of the world,” she laughs. “Do you know what everyone is talking about tonight, from commoners to kings? _Us_. Thedas is discussing the success of the Inquisition.”

“Thanks almost entirely to you,” I grin.

She giggles. “You had a role yourself, if I recall correctly. Truly, we will never forget those we lost…but for tonight…to victory,” she smiles. She bows her head at me, moving down the hall to speak with the caterers.

“Enjoying the refreshments?” Leliana muses, walking over to me. “Josie sent all the way to the capital for the petit fours.”

I groan. “I love tiny cakes. And there are so many…I don’t even know which one to try first,” I reply, eyeing the spread across the room.

“I would avoid the dark ones topped with gold dust. Deep mushroom and anise.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Thank you for the warning.”

“An awful combination,” she agrees, “but it’s quite popular in Val Royeaux. I believe they call it ‘the Exquisite Misery.’”

“Orlais really is such a lovely place,” I murmur. “Not sure why we don’t visit more often.”

“Why did we save her again?” Leliana chuckles in agreement.

I grin.

“To you, Inquisitor,” she murmurs, raising her drink. “For all you’ve done.” She looks behind me and then rolls her eyes. “Josie! Stop fussing over the—Excuse me, Inquisitor.”

I smirk as she chases Josie down. I take a moment to peruse the cake table, selecting a couple that melt in my mouth, and then I move over to where Cass stands near the dais, watching the others with a small smile.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” she murmurs when I stand beside her.

“Me neither,” I breathe.

“It seemed an impossible task: defy the Chantry, build the Inquisition from nothing, defeat a creature that would be a god…”

“Don’t forget sealing a tear in the Veil…twice.”

She gestures to me in agreement. “And yet here we are…celebrating,” she sighs, relieved.

“I know,” I muse with a shake of my head. “It was more than a little daunting in Haven.”

“And now it is apparently between Leliana and myself as to who shall be the next Divine.”

“You would make a wonderful Divine,” I murmur, grinning at her. “If you want to be Divine, let me know, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“I have no doubt the Chantry will demand your opinion, whether you wish to give it or not.”

I smirk. “I’d be _happy _to give it to them.”

She glances at me. “I think back to how this all began…how wrong I was about you…I would not be standing here without you; I know that for certain. Thank you, Inquisitor. I will always stand beside you. If you have need of me, I will be there.”

“Thank you, Cass,” I murmur. “I’m going to hug you now."

She laughs as I pull her to me, patting my back.

I move away and smile at her once more.

She turns to sit at one of the tables, grimacing at Varric when he says something to her that's too quiet for me to hear. My eyes drift to the other side of the hall, and I chew the inside of my cheek. I set my drink aside, fold my hands behind my back, and walk through the hall again slowly, my chest tightening the closer I get. I see Cullen and Blackwall glance up from what they're doing when I pass, but my mind becomes focused on my destination. The guard at the door stands a little straighter when I approach, crossing his arm respectfully over his chest.

“Is it alright if I—”

“Of course, Your Worship,” he responds quickly, pulling the door open behind him.

“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping inside.

He closes the door behind me, and then I’m bathed in darkness. I stand in it for a moment, breathing out slowly. I step forward once, pressing my hand and then my forehead to the next door. I take another steadying breath and then open it slowly.

My eyes flood as soon as I see the little couch against the wall. I step into the room slowly, hesitantly. Away from the aromas of the food in the hall, I breathe in the musty, delightful scent of all the books in his study. His desk is exactly the way he left it, books and papers scattered—his research, his writings. One of the books stands open, the pages waiting, and my chest tightens more when I see it. I look up at the murals on the walls, tears slipping down my cheeks. He painted them so carefully, so beautifully, honoring our victories. All our feats except—

I freeze, and my heart stops when I see the last panel. I expected it to be blank, and my mind races as my chest clenches—when did he come back to finish it? Why did he take the time?

I move closer to it, bringing my fingers to my lips. It’s roughly sketched, nothing more than a few lines, all the same color, but it is still beautiful and powerful. The image depicts a slain dragon, an Inquisition sword thrust through it, standing proudly in victory. Before it, a great, mighty wolf bows, its head low, its eyes closed.

I stare at it, confusion wrestling with grief. It feels important—why would he come back here to finish it if it wasn’t?

Cole suddenly appears beside me, sitting on the desk by the wall. He kicks his feet, sighing quietly. “All new, faded for her,” he murmurs quietly.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

“I don’t know,” he admits, staring down at the floor. "I'm listening."

"To what?"

"I don't know," he repeats. 

I look at him and then glance at the mural again. A long silence stretches between us as he simply sits with me, kicking his feet languidly.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I’m sorry, Cole, but with your gift, I fear that you might see the path I now must walk in solitude forever. This fate is mine alone. Indeed, I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for. Though you reach out in compassion, I must now insist that you _forget_.”

I stare at Cole, grabbing his hand in desperation. “Wait—no, no, no, what was that? Was that Solas?”

Cole blinks at me several times, confusion etched across his features. “I-I’m…w-wh-what were we talking about? I-I’m ready to help people when you are.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I raise my hand to my mouth.

“You are hurt,” Cole says worriedly.

“Do you remember what you just said?”

“When?”

“Just now?”

“I’m…ready to help people?”

“No, before that.”

“N-no…I was…in the main hall, and…”

I stare at him, anguished, and then I release his hand and hang my head.

“You are in pain,” Cole says, sliding off the desk. “I-I can help.”

“It’s alright,” I reply, stepping back. “I—I just need to…I’ll…see you tomorrow, Cole.”

I take one last look at the fresh mural and then move back through the doors. Everyone is laughing and talking as I pass through them. I wipe my eyes swiftly, reaching my door at the end of the long hall. I glance back at the others only to see them all rise from their chairs, the banter of the hall falling silently. Cullen and Leliana bow to me once more as Josie curtsies. Pain wracks through me, and I smile with difficulty, honored but broken. I push through the door swiftly and close it again.

I take the stairs slowly. I walk to the bed, intending to get a blanket, but I see something else that stops me in my tracks. My heart drops, and tears flood and stream down my face. I reach forward in agony, my throat and chest aching. My fingers twitch as I delicately pick the wolf’s jawbone necklace off the bed. He was wearing it when we fought Corypheus. He came back here. I clutch it in my hands, crying softly as I try in vain to see it clearly. I bring it to my chest, breathing harshly, a groan slipping through my teeth.

I walk to the balcony and raise the necklace delicately to loop it around my neck. It falls gently to my stomach. I move my hand over it, gripping it tightly as the sun slowly rises in the east. I close my eyes briefly, breathing evenly, and then I look over the mountains again. The wolf’s necklace is cool in my fingers, a soft and gentle reminder.

I wipe my nose and stare over the icy landscape, shaking in the cold morning breeze. “I will find you,” I promise softly. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I’m not giving up on you.” I feel foolish saying it out loud, and I look down at the wolf’s necklace again, clutching it tightly. “Whatever path you think you must walk alone…I will find you, Solas.”

***

I blink, frowning languidly in the too-bright sun. The trees arch over me dizzyingly, blurring abstractly in the light. I walk forward, feeling sluggish and weak, as if underwater. I can’t remember how I got here—or even where _here _is. I don’t even know what I was doing a moment ago.

I look up when a blue light flares brilliantly. I hold my hand up, blocking the light with my fingers. I step back when I see my hand, frowning. Something is…missing. It takes me a long time to realize it’s the glove—I _did _have one, right? I can’t remember.

I walk forward slowly, seeing the path unmarked ahead of me. A dozen feet away, out from under the lazy canopy of the trees, a woman stands before a large mirror. I frown again, hesitating, because she appears to believe she’s alone. Though I can’t explain why, I don’t want to correct her.

I tilt my head slightly. I know her…I think I know her. _Should_ know her, perhaps. The memory of why her face is familiar escapes me, resting just at the edge of my mind, out of reach.

Twin statues adorn the mirror, and I feel I’ve seen this, too—or something like it, though I don’t know why. The wolf and dragon statues bow to each other, inclining their heads towards the large, golden mirror. My vision blurs again, and I rub my eyes, looking up in time to see the woman push something through the mirror—a small ball of blue light. When it’s gone, she stares at the glass, closing her eyes briefly.

“I knew you would come,” she says softly. I think she's talking to me at first before she turns around, her eyes finding another in the courtyard. An elven man, his posture bent as if in pain. “You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf,” she murmurs quietly.

“I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber,” he replies, his voice hoarse.

I blink slowly, holding my hand up to the light in confusion. He looks familiar, too. Why can't I remember?

“The failure was _mine_,” he continues, walking to the woman slowly. “_I _should pay the price, but the People…they need me.”

The woman nods solemnly, reaching for the man. She raises a hand to his cheek. He closes his eyes, holding her wrist as she presses her forehead to his.

“I am so sorry,” the man whispers, his agonized voice twisting inside me like a dagger.

“I am sorry as well, old friend,” the woman murmurs back softly.

He opens his eyes, looking at her with so much pain that my chest tightens. The woman nods again softly, and then she suddenly seizes up, blue mist swirling around her as her skin and hair turn black with rot. The blue energy is pulled from her body, dancing slowly to his as he catches her, holding her stiff body reverently as she collapses. He kneels with and over her, holding onto her tightly. 

The man lets out a quiet breath before looking up slowly. His eyes gleam a brilliant blue as the mist surrounds and nearly envelopes him. His eyes find mine, growing impossibly sadder as the light from them fades. I hesitate, unsure what to do, and the man whispers quietly, his soft words drifting to me slowly, telling me to—

I jerk awake, a book dropping off the couch and landing solidly—startlingly—on the floor with a loud clap. I sigh and sit up, blinking groggily before I wipe my eyes.

“Shit,” I mutter, rubbing my forehead. A dream dances at the edge of my memory, but I can’t recall anything about it. The harder I try to remember it, the further it fades away until I finally give up.

I look down at the books on top of me, sighing again.

“Fall asleep reading again?” Dorian muses. "Is that couch _really _that comfortable? It's always looked a little stiff to me."

I look up to see him leaning over the railing above me, his expression amused. “What can I say, the material's particularly dry.”

“What’s the subject today? Elven history again? The Dales? _Don’t_ tell me you’re studying Orlesian politics again. You nearly threw the book out the window last time.”

“The Chant of Light,” I sigh, grabbing my notes and my quill.

“Yikes.”

“I like the parts with Andraste; the rules and commandments, though are…less intriguing.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, his own book balanced in his hand.

“What time is it?” I yawn. I stretch my arms over my head, whacking my elbow on the wall behind me. I jerk around, terrified I've smeared the mural's paint, and I relax when I see it unmarred. 

Dorian glances behind himself out the window. “It’s late.”

“My bedtime,” I muse, picking up three of the books I was reading. I place bookmarks in them and ease off the couch. “Don’t…touch that,” I say, waving my hand vaguely over the books and scattered notes.

“Don’t touch the ravings of the madwoman, got it,” Dorian nods.

“Oh, I’m Dorian, and I’m _hilarious_.”

“Spot on impression, darling.”

I smirk up at him. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Night, Sul. See you in the morning, bright and early.”

“Oh,” I add, stepping back to look at him again, “can you ask Josie to find those books on ancient arcane warriors? My trainer wants to have a look at them.”

“How many topics are you going to study at once?”

“All of them, if possible,” I muse with another smirk.

“I’m going to start getting an inferiority complex around you,” he huffs. 

“I just want to…understand,” I say seriously. “I’ve spent too much of my life in the dark.”

Dorian gives me a soft look. “Tomorrow, then, first thing, our daily Tevinter history lesson.”

I grin at him. “_Thank _you, Dorian,” I sing, walking back out into the main hall.

When I get to my tower, I take the stairs slowly, tiredness washing over me heavily. I seriously consider just sleeping on the third landing before I sigh and make myself mount the rest of them. I move my hand to the wolf’s necklace as it taps against my stomach to keep it still, clutching it loosely. I don’t even bother undressing before I fall into the bed diagonally and pull a pillow under my head. I sigh, my mind throbbing a little and my eyes sandpaper-dry from so much reading. As I fall asleep, I hear the gentle sound of the wind sweeping against the stone of Skyhold, and, in the distance, the cry of a lone wolf cut off from its pack.


	59. Hunger and Envy in Their Hearts

_Two Years Later_

My borrowed horse walks slowly under me, weighted down by all manner of ceremonial attire. My hand is clasped loosely around the reigns, though I needn’t lead him. The armed guards lining the road on either side of us keep him focused on the path ahead well enough. I make an effort to look straight down the road and nowhere else, as Josephine indicated, but it’s difficult. I sit upright, presenting myself as well as I can, when I’d much rather slump over and sigh. Hundreds of Inquisition soldiers are gathered on the stone steps in rows behind the armed guards, prepared for our arrival in Halamshiral. Beyond them, curious nobles wait, spying over their shoulders to see the Inquisition make its frustratingly and unnecessarily grand entrance.

I do try my best not to fidget with my diplomatic uniform. My Dalish robes are packed away with Leliana’s things. Obviously we couldn’t come in armed to the teeth for this council, but I much prefer my own clothes to this confining, stiff attire. Leliana arrived hours ahead of us, but Josie and Cullen flank me as we ride slowly through the crowd to the gates of the Winter Palace—again. Swore I’d never willingly come back here, but I guess two years changes a lot of things.

The wolf’s jawbone necklace beats gently against my stomach as the horse lurches left, jostling me. Well, two years doesn’t change _everything_.

Cullen sighs behind me. “Another parade, another _bloody _negotiation.”

I smirk without turning around. Cullen's reluctance to come here is matched only by my own. 

“Smiles, everyone,” Josie reminds us. “We must be careful how we present ourselves.”

“Why did Divine call the Exalted Council anyway?” Cullen sulks. “She’s kept Orlais from bothering us for the last two years.”

“At increasing political cost, yes,” Josie agrees grimly. “She has done all she can, but the Exalted Council has become necessary. Orlais would control us, and based on their _many _marriage proposals, they have _specific _plans for you,” she adds with so much delight that I'm certain she’s talking to Cullen.

He offers a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. I can practically feel his simultaneous eye roll.

“Our real concern,” Josie continues seriously, “is Ferelden. They would see us disbanded entirely.”

“Never mind all the good we’ve done,” I mumble.

“Be that as it may,” Josie allows, “we must keep a careful, collected head on our shoulders.”

“I’m always careful and collected,” I muse, offering a smile to Arl Teagan as we pass him. He watches us sternly, his expression rigid. “They’re my middle names.”

“Both together or separately?” Cullen wonders. “Like, Suledin Careful and Collected Lavellan or—”

“Will you two behave, please?” Josie asks, her voice tight through her smile. 

I chuckle and then sigh. “Couldn’t they have made this a long road?” I complain, annoyed with how much further we still have to travel.

“Andraste guide us,” Josie sighs.

***

I step into the desolate room where the Exalted Council will soon be held. It’s quiet and cool here—for now, anyway. In a few hours, it will undoubtedly be overcrowded, overheated, and overbearing with us all arguing back and forth as diplomatically as possible. At the front of the room, a long table curves in a gentle arc. The chair for Divine Victoria is lavish and gold-imbued, and I smirk. I’m sure Cass loves all that ornate design. There is a chair on either side of her throne-like seat, their designs Orlesian and fancy but far less eye-catching than the Divine’s. Above the table, a long Inquisition banner hangs from the ceiling. Over the right chair, a Ferelden banner hangs, and over the left, an Orlesian one. Dozens of chairs line the assembly floor, and I sigh. I suppose it was too much to hope that this would be a _private _council. No matter. Public speaking has always been a…thing that I do.

A simple table sits beneath the primary one with two similarly humble chairs, one for me and Josie. It’s intimidating to see it, up close like this. It’s _real _now, I suppose. All these months, it’s just been a concept, something I knew was looming over us, but now I realize with startling clarity that by the end of the week, the Inquisition could very well be a thing of the past if we don’t play our cards right.

My hand suddenly flares as I stare at the tables, and I flinch, folding it into a tight fist. I haven’t bothered to wear the glove for the last year and a half. It no longer works. Dagna tried everything, but I suppose it wasn’t only her genius that breathed life into it. The glove had served its purpose, though, and I didn’t bother asking her to make another. She's busy enough without that added headache. 

I brace myself against one of the chairs, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes at the ache. It’s been getting worse for the last few months, despite me limiting my experience in the field. A few more seconds, and it’ll be over, but it never feels like it. I hold my breath, counting silently, and then I sigh in relief when it passes.

“Inquisitor,” someone murmurs. Though her voice is gentle, it still startles me. I turn around, moving my left hand behind my back with a small bow to Mother Giselle. “It has been too long,” she smiles, approaching me. “I hope the years have been kind to you.”

“About as kind as ever,” I return with my own smile. “How have you been, Mother Giselle?”

“I spent last summer in Emprise du Lion distributing food sent from the Exalted Plains. The Dales are finally recovering,” she says with pride.

I chuckle. “Since Corypheus fell, I think you’ve spent even more time traveling than I have—significantly more.”

“It keeps me out of trouble, Your Worship,” she muses with a conspiratorial wink. “I should mention that your forces at Suledin Keep were of _great _help. Please give my complements to Baron Desjardins.”

“I will.”

“Divine Victoria asked me to greet you on her behalf. She is currently attending to the Ferelden ambassador’s concerns.”

I smirk at the mother. “I don’t think she’d mind if you called her Cassandra. In fact, she'd probably prefer it.”

“She would not mind if _you _did, Inquisitor. I prefer to use her Divine name. Our last Divine once joked about why I insisted upon calling her Justinia. She called it my way of reassuring her that I had not _completely _forgotten who was in charge.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. By the way…Since you’ve seen her more often that I have of late, how has Cassandra been doing? She writes, but…you know how she is with writing—infrequent and insufferably vague.”

“It is hardly for me to say, Inquisitor,” Mother Giselle answers properly.

I smirk. “With respect, Mother Giselle, that’s never stopped you before.”

She offers a knowing smile, inclining her head towards me. “Victoria says she is better suited to the battlefield than the Sunburst Throne, but she has restored the Chantry…and also people’s faith in it. We are lucky to have her.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I nod. “I’ll go find her. She’s in the courtyard?”

“Yes. I believe she would appreciate that, Your Worship. The Divine sees the good that you can do and have done. Additionally, Duke Cyril will wish to greet you on behalf of Orlais. I believe he is currently speaking with the Tevinter ambassador.” I perk up. “Many of your friends have returned as well.” I straighten even more. “I hope you have the chance to speak with them before the Exalted Council begins.”

Excitement rushes through me, and I wonder eagerly which ones have returned. It’s been ages. “You…mentioned a Tevinter ambassador…?” Please, please, please, please…

“Yes, Your Worship. Dorian Pavus has—”

“_Yes_!” I grin.

Mother Giselle chuckles. “Dorian Pavus has taken the chance to return from Tevinter. It will be good to see him again. I owe him my apology. I allowed my distrust of Tevinter to cloud my judgement. He took a great risk coming to help us and deserved better treatment than I offered.” 

I cock my head, raising an eyebrow. “_You’re _going to apologize…to _Dorian_?”

She frowns at me. “I have little patience for those who cannot admit they were wrong, Your Worship—myself included."

“But…_Dorian_.”

She smirks. “I will have to make my apology somewhere public. He will want an audience for his reaction.”

I laugh loudly, the sound bouncing off the stone walls to us so quickly that Mother Giselle laughs, too. “Who else is here?” I ask eagerly.

“Your dwarven friend, Master Teth—”

“_Yes_!”

“I understand he spent much of the last couple years in Kirkwall,” she grins. “I believe Ser Blackwall has returned as well…although he now prefers the name Thom Rainier, as you know.”

“This is the greatest day of my life,” I grin.

“Enjoy time with them while you can, Inquisitor,” she smiles warmly. “I doubt you will have the chance once the Exalted Council is underway.”

“Thank you, Mother Giselle,” I say, backing up quickly. “I’ll see you later!”

“Your Worship,” she calls. I stop and turn back. “A final question, if I may. This Exalted Council…Ferelden would have the Inquisition disband. Orlais sees its power as another feather in a chevalier’s helmet. What do _you _wish to do with the Inquisition?”

I nod softly, folding my hands behind my back. “While Corypheus _is _two years dead, the Inquisition still has a great deal of work to do. My intention was originally to disband when we were finished, and that has not changed. But we are not yet finished. If it were my choice, I would not let someone’s fear push us into disbanding before our work is done. The chaos Corypheus and the Breach left behind is only just beginning to regress, but it is doing so _slowly_. I would see the Inquisition continue for a little while longer. There are still hundreds suffering from the effects of Corypheus’ plans; as you said, the Dales have only just begun to recover. I fear that without the Inquisition’s aid, people will be forgotten in the turmoil, left to solve their own problems.”

I tighten my hands behind my back, because I know there’s a second reason that I’m afraid to get rid of the Inquisition. Foolish, perhaps, is the fear of being alone again. I know the others have all moved into their news lives, and part of me already feels left behind. Losing the Inquisition, losing Skyhold...

Beyond that reason, deep down, in the most selfish, illogical part of me, I fear that without the Inquisition’s resources and without its long reach, I may never see Solas again.

And that is very, very stupid.

Mother Giselle nods slowly, her eyes on mine closely. Though I try not to reveal my thoughts to her, part of me thinks that she sees through my diplomatic answer. “Then I wish you luck in the negotiations to come,” she offers.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. Go and see your friends, while you have time.”

“Yes!” I say, my enthusiasm returning twofold. “Thank you!”

“Be careful, Inquisitor,” she laughs when I almost run into the door.

“Yep, got it!” I grin, pushing it open and loping down the hall quickly to the courtyard.

The first person I see is Varric, and I grin so wide it hurts. I'd forgotten how much I _missed _them all.

I take the stairs down quickly, coming to a stop behind Varric when I see he’s talking with someone else.

“The Prince of Starkhaven wrote to you again,” the man is saying.

“Of course he did,” Varric sighs. “Just…put that one in the pile with the letters from the Merchants Guild.”

“And the captain of the city guard had a very…_colorful _message for me to deliver to you as well.”

Varric sighs again, turning his head. He catches sight of me and whips around with a huge grin. “Snow!” he exclaims, stepping over to me.

“Varric!” I squeal.

“Andraste’s _ass_, am I ever glad to see you!” He pulls me into a hug, and I return it tightly.

“_Varric_—I missed you so _much_!” 

“I like the haircut,” he adds, grinning at me.

I smile sheepishly, tucking chin-length locks behind my ear. “Thank you.”

“The Inquisitor comes to the rescue again!” he laughs, patting my arm playfully.

“Is that what you call it?” his friend grumbles unhappily.

“Snow, this is Bran Caevin,” Varric introduces. “Until recently, he was the Viscount—”

“_Provisional _Viscount,” Bran quickly corrects.

“—of Kirkwall,” Varric continues, tossing him a frown.

“Until recently?” I repeat.

“I have resumed my post as seneschal now that Master Tethras has been elected Viscount.”

I gape at Varric, and he chuckles. “_You’re _the _Viscount _of _Kirkwall_?!” I exclaim. “Why didn’t you _tell _me?! How did I not know about this?! Congratulations!”

“It seems the two of you have a great deal to discuss,” Bran says. “Why don’t I just leave you to it?” He doesn't go far though. He walks a few feet away, likely still in earshot, before turning to watch us disinterestedly. 

Varric smirks at me when I shove him again excitedly. “So, turns out that if you fund enough reconstruction efforts in a city-state, the nobles give you the worst job they can think of.”

I laugh. “That’s _amazing_!”

“Eh, it’s not that big a deal,” he chuckles. “I have a really pointy crown that I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing, but that’s about it. They voted me in because I got the harbor and businesses up and running again. They want shit fixed, and I can do that.”

“Stop underselling it!” I exclaim. “This is _huge_! They grow up so fast,” I add, patting my cheeks.

Varric laughs loudly, rolling his eyes. “Stop, stop—enough about me. I was hoping I could catch you before the summit got underway. I…got you a sort of…present,” he smiles, handing over a piece of parchment, continuing before I can even read it. “It’s official recognition of your title and holdings in Kirkwall. Congratulations,” he grins, “you’re a comptess now!”

Bran comes rushing back to us as I gape at Varric speechlessly. He waves his hand, shaking his head. “You can’t actually do that without—”

“Too late!” Varric says. “Already did it.”

“Varric!” I exclaim, grinning.

Bran shakes his head again. “That needs to be reviewed by—”

“You were leaving us to talk, remember?” Varric hums.

Bran sighs heavily and retreats a few feet again, watching us warily this time.

“Varric,” I laugh. “This is—possibly too much. I don’t know what to say!”

“It’s nothing,” he says, waving his hand. “Eh, _practically _nothing. Don’t mention—oh! That reminds me!” He pulls something from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a long, iron bar with a fancy sigil at the end. As soon as it passes from Varric to me, Bran comes charging over once more. “It’s the key to the city,” Varric grins.

“You can’t give that away without approval from the council and a special ceremony!” Bran says, distressed. “It—”

“It’s just symbolic anyway!” Varric finishes.

“It _controls _one of the giant _chain nets _in the _harbor_,” Bran says, even more worried.

I laugh loudly.

“Really?” Varric muses in surprise. “That is—so much better than I thought,” he adds with a wink at me.

“Wait, can I try it on the nets?!” I say giddily.

“No!” Bran exclaims.

“Absolutely!” Varric grins. “Look, I don’t know how this council thing is going to end for the Inquisition…but whatever gets decided, you’ve got a place lined up in Kirkwall if you want it. I just wanted you to know that…however this pans out, you’ll still have a home. Also…uh…control of the harbor? I guess?”

I laugh, my eyes flooding. “Thank you, Varric. This is a wonderful gift.”

He gives me a warm look. “Sure thing, Snow. Kirkwall’s not _that _great, so it’s not really—”

I interrupt his joke with another hug, and he laughs, patting my back.

“I missed you, Snow,” he sighs. “But you better go see the others before this thing starts. I saw a few of them heading towards the tavern. We’ll have to get in a game of Wicked Grace before we all leave again! I wanna see if Curly’s any better.”

“He’s not,” I chuckle, pulling back. “Thank you, Varric.”

“_Don’t _bet any public buildings this time,” Bran grumbles.

“How else are they supposed to take me seriously?” Varric demands, walking away with him. I grin at him when he turns to wink at me, and I pocket the key and the parchment with a quiet laugh.

I look around the courtyard to get my bearings, and I see the Arl and Duke talking to separate people high up on a balcony to the left. Before they spot me, I turn around, brushing my short hair back behind my ears as I make my way to the tavern.

I look up and grin so wide it hurts—again—when I see Cole hovering near a table where an Orlesian man sits.

“Inquisitor!” the man greets happily. “I see you have time for afternoon refreshments! Come, come, let us—”

Cole leans over the man’s shoulder, talking quietly. “Glimmering, glittering, perfect cut, mask a maze of gemstones. She will think it pretty.”

The Orlesian cocks his head, as though something has just occurred to him. “Excuse me, Inquisitor, I must…Hmm…” He gets up slowly, his eyes intrigued behind his mask. He moves past me, heading in the direction of the marketplace.

I watch him go and then turn to Cole, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Cole smiles at me softly. “He wants stones the color of his eyes. Happy, bright, beaming, being seen, not seeing. And I needed the table.” He leans forward, tossing bits of bread across its surface with another quiet smile.

“For breadcrumbs?” I muse.

“Birds like breadcrumbs,” Cole nods, stepping back. He pulls me a little out of the way, waiting. I glance at him and then watch, too.

“So, where are have you been?” I wonder. “You haven’t been back at Skyhold for months. I half-thought you forgot about me,” I add in a teasing voice. 

“I _am _sorry,” Cole says. 

“You don’t have to be,” I smile at him. “I just missed you.”

“I was helping people. So many hurts to heal in so many far away places.”

That makes me smile again. “I’m glad you’re happy, Cole.”

“How could I not be?” he grins.

A raven swoops down from the sky and lands on the table, picking at the bread. Cole looks up, and I follow his gaze to see Maryden the Bard sitting nearby. She glances back at the birds on the table and then sees me.

“Inquisitor!” she grins, hopping up. “How good to see you! What are you doing here all alone?”

“Alone?” I repeat, glancing at Cole.

“She can’t see me,” he smiles. “Better that way.”

“Ah, so I am,” I muse, laughing awkwardly. “I was just—thinking.”

“As was I. I came to sit and pen another song.”

“Sweet songs,” Cole murmurs, “poignant pain plants joy that grows later. She can’t see me. I help her help people.”

“I gathered,” I chuckle.

“You...gathered?” Maryden smiles, confused.

“Oh! Uh, I mean, I thought you m-might be writing, it being such a—beautiful day!”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Maryden nods with another smile.

“You’re smart and kind,” Cole murmurs to her. “You’re worthy of true love.”

I frown in confusion as an Orlesian dressed in white comes up. He carries a large lyre across his chest, strumming it loudly to get several people's attention. “Hello, Halamshiral!” he shouts. “The fire of Zither! Must be fueled by wine, ideally shared with adoring fans!” He looks at Maryden pointedly, smirking and winking behind his mask.

“But not with him!” Cole says quickly. “You need somebody nice!”

Maryden crosses her arms and makes a face at the Orlesian. He strums his lyre again with a shrug and leaves. I grow ever more confused, glancing at Cole.

“Yes, better,” Cole says approvingly. “He’ll be gentle. So will you.”

“What is happening?” I whisper. 

Cole smiles and points.

Krem walks by, and I grin excitedly when I see him, though I know he’s the most recent of them all that I’ve seen, outside of my advisors. I take in a breath to call his name, but Cole hurriedly moves his hand over my mouth. 

“Wait,” he smiles.

I realize Maryden is watching Krem walk, and she extends a hand half out to him. “Excuse me. You’re with the Chargers, are you not? I’ve seen you in Herald’s Rest where I sing.”

Krem glances up to see she’s talking to him, and then he stops, smiling winsomely at her. “Oh, yes!” he nods in greeting, his eyes warm. “I love your songs! Sometimes I’d sit up on the chair to get a better look—a-at…your songs.”

My jaw drops when I finally catch up to what's happening, and I grin at Cole, hugging his arm.

“The Chargers have their own song,” Krem continues hesitantly. “I-if you’d like to hear it, that is…”

Maryden nods enthusiastically. “I would love to, ser,” she smiles. “Perhaps later tonight. Maybe…around seven?”

“Looking forward to it,” Krem smiles. “A-and it’s…Krem.”

“Maryden,” she replies. 

“Maryden,” Krem repeats, his voice warm.

“Oh, _well done_, Cole,” I grin.

“Strong arms, a sweet voice. Father wanted me to be happy,” Cole murmurs.

“Which one of them is that?” I wonder.

He gives a soft, delighted chuckle. “Both.”

I smile, watching Krem watch Maryden walk away. Krem turns and sees me, and I jerk upright, pretending to study the archway with a focused expression.

“Your Worship!” he exclaims happily, rushing over. “I’m glad you’re here! Listen, I need you to keep the chief distracted while we sneak this dragon skull through the room behind him.”

I blink and then laugh, bewildered. I look at Cole only to find that he’s disappeared. “What, pray tell, is the skull for?” I chuckle.

“His birthday,” Krem grins.

“It’s his birthday?!” I smile. “Aw, I’ll see what I can do!”

“Alright—oh! Here he comes—just keep him talking! He _loves _talking!” Krem ducks out of a side entrance, disappearing into an alleyway.

I turn around, folding my hands behind my back innocently as Bull comes through the door. I grin widely, waiting for him to see me.

“Hey! Boss!” he roars, coming over quickly. He pats my shoulder so hard that I stagger forward and laugh. “Good to see you. New hair! I like it!”

“Bull! Thanks! Come here, come sit. _No_! Not there! Uh, over here, this one’s better,” I say quickly, waving him over.

“Alright, sure, boss,” he chuckles.

“Hey! How are you?!”

“Just fine,” he nods. “Been fun roamin’ around with my boys. Sorry we haven’t been to Skyhold in a while. How’ve you been, boss?”

“You know what, Bull? _Dandy_. Dandy is how I’ve been.”

He frowns at me. “Good?” he laughs.

I nod. “So—how was roaming? Have any good jobs?”

“Oh yeah,” he nods, chuckling. “A lot of crazy ones. What about you? Heard from Red that you picked a discipline? For your magic thing?”

“Oh, yeah! Got a trainer and everything.”

“Knight-enchanting?”

“Well,” I wince, “technically, but the form is actually derived from ancient arcane warriors, so it’s an elven practice, in truth.”

“Ah,” he nods.

“Most mages hate the thick of battle, but I can’t imagine hanging back! It’s nice to get your hands dirty every once in a while!” I frown at how odd and forced that sounded and then grin broadly.

“That’s why I like you, boss,” Bull chuckles. “You swing a sword. It’s a weird sword, made out of magic, but still.”

I glance over Bull’s shoulder to see Krem and the others trying to lift the dragon’s skull unsuccessfully. “I always forget how tall you are!” I say quickly.

“Right? Hello down there!” he chuckles richly.

The Chargers try to hoist it up, and one of them falls over. “It’s _fascinating _to see the remnants of the Ciriane culture here!” I call when Bull goes to turn. “Most of it was deliberately erased during Orlesian unification, under the reign of Maferath’s son Isorath.”

“Uh huh,” Bull muses, narrowing his eye at me. “You been…doin’ some reading, there, boss?”

“Just some light research into several in-depth topics.”

“Yeah? What’ve you been researching?”

“Oh, you know, _everything_. Did a lot of research into the Chantry, Orlais, the Grey Wardens, the Deep Roads, ancient elves, the Fade…the old Inquisition, the Seekers—lots of stuff, really. Everything I could get my hands on. That’s how I learned about arcane warriors, actually.”

“Huh,” Bull hums.

Krem and the others stand staring at the skull. Krem glances over disinterestedly to see Rocky run forward. Something explodes when he reaches the skull, and Krem watches him fly back, unsurprised by that turn of events.

“Hey!” I laugh when Bull starts to turn again. “Did you _know _that Ferelden has its own names for lords? The country is divided into teyrnirs, governed by teyrns! Inside those are cities and arlings, ruled by arls…and then there’s the Bannorn! It’s a large area of countryside, ruled by multiple banns!”

“Good to know,” Bull nods.

I look over to see Krem and the others carrying the skull over their heads—though I’ve no idea how they finally got it up. Rocky looks up and then suddenly drops his arms with a shrug when he realizes he can’t reach. He lifts a flagon and takes a deep drink, but he spits it out when Krem comes over and crosses his arms of his chest. I cough out a laugh, and Bull looks at me concernedly. 

“It’s—good to see that the Veil has largely healed,” I say quickly, “now that most of the major rifts are closed. You…might think otherwise, but the Veil isn’t _technically _a physical barrier! It’s more like a magical vibration that repels the Fade. Isn’t that _fascinating_?”

“Hm. Read that in another book?”

“Well, of course! I’ve been—doing lots of research into magical areas of study, too, and into the Fade in particular—you know, trying to learn how to…walk through it, like a dreamer, but with full consciousness.”

“Why would you wanna do that?” he wonders, seeming genuinely curious.

“To—” I hesitate, unwilling to give the honest answer. “To, you know, just to—lucid dream. Maybe I can figure out how to—fly?”

Bull laughs. “You’re weird, boss, but I like it.”

Krem throws up his hands in vexation as they try to get the skull through the tavern doorway. They don’t have the proper leverage, and Krem shakes his head. He looks at Dalish, and she glances around before raising her ‘bow’ to the skull with a powerful roar. It moves an inch, and she sighs, dropping her head into her hand as Krem sighs.

Bull goes to turn again at the sound, and I holler loudly and wordlessly, making him jerk back to me in surprise. “I was just wondering! Do you think news of the Exalted Council could affect he lyrium shipments from Orzammar?”

“Uh…maybe?”

I blink. “Uh—do you—” I blank, my mind completely and finally emptying. “Did you know that…the…king of…” I frown, searching wildly.

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Bull grins, “you can do it. They must have that thing almost across the room by now, right?”

I blink and then scoff, hitting his shoulder hard.

“Ben-Hassrath, remember?” he smirks.

“You just let me _ramble _on like that when you _knew_?!”

“I was curious what you’d come up with,” he admits with a laugh and a shrug. “Turns out, you completely fall apart under pressure, but after a while, it was just too entertaining.”

I scoff again, grinning as I shove his shoulder once more.

“I mean, that was some spectacular flailing. You really—”

“Shut up,” I chuckle, pushing him a third time as he rumbles a laugh.

“Surprise!” Krem exclaims, getting our attention. “Happy birthday, chief!”

Bull whips around, looking down at the skull in shock—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was genuine. “You guys! You got me! How’d you do this?!” He glances at me and winks, chuckling once as he goes to pat Krem hard on the back. I grin, watching them for a long moment as they talk and laugh, Rocky and Dalish tripping over each other to tell some story.

“Hey, you!” I turn around, grinning when I see Sera. She plops down next to me on top of a table and starts kicking her feet. “Glad to be back, all stuffed together—with the pressure full on. Again. Don’t worry, ‘Herald of Everywhere.’ I came prepared. I know what everyone needs.”

“Oh?” I muse, raising an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Pranks!”

“Oh no,” I laugh, “No, no, _no_—Josie will _kill _me!”

“Oh, boo, she’s no fun,” Sera pouts. “You know it’s endin’, right? We can say it won’t, but nobs in places like this? All they _do _is end things. They’ll try a leash…or worse. But maybe you aren’t ready to quit just because some ‘Lord Piddlebits’ is scared of us?”

“No way,” I muse. “You’ve seen how much more there is to do.”

“People need savin’, yeah? Glad you haven’t forgotten that. Point is, sooner or _sooner_, all this changes. And you’ve helped me understand…too much. So…” She glances at me, sighing. “I didn’t wanna say nothin’, but I _was _tryin’a help you.”

“Help me?” I repeat. “With what?”

She sighs again, kicking her feet harder. “I don’t get it, right? I mean, he’s a tosser, but wha’ever, guess we all make our own mistakes.” She looks up at me sharply. “Er, no, I didn’t mean that—I—” She sighs a third time. “What I mean is…I was…I got a lot’a friends, y’know, and I was usin’ ‘em to…”

“To what?” I smile.

“I was usin’ ‘em to try’n find Mr. Elven Glory Elfybits, alright?” she sighs.

I freeze, blinking slowly. “W…what?”

“I was _tryin’ _to is the point. Meaning _was,_ meaning _couldn't..._ What I mean is…My friends’re all over, yeah? ‘N I sent a little message out. That’s how it works—send a message out, maybe some scullion in Denerim’s seen somethin’, and they send a message back. Only…thing is…I didn’t find anythin’. What’s weirder is…some’a them never reported back. Guess they’re busy—sometimes don’t hear from them for months, but I wanted you to know that. I didn’t like him, but I was sorry he…did that to you, so I was tryin’ to help, ‘n I couldn’t, so there.”

“Sera,” I murmur, looking up at her. “That’s…very sweet. Thank you for trying.”

“Don’t…get all like that,” she says, recoiling slightly. “It didn’t even work. I failed, so…Bugger’s off…buggering off somewhere.”

“It means a lot to me that you tried,” I say seriously again.

She shrugs, glancing at me seriously before looking down. “Anyway, just wanted you to know…I didn’t forget, y’know, what you did for me, so…I’ll catch you later, yeah? It got too serious. Those pies won’t throw themselves.”

I chuckle. “Try not to let Josie see you.”

“That’s the fun, innit?” she giggles, running away from the tavern.

I glance down at the table and give a soft smile before I stand. I watch Bull and the Chargers for a long moment as they laugh and talk animatedly. Rocky holds up what appears to be a bomb, and everyone lunges at him with a collective, “_hey!_”, and then he laughs and tosses it. Bull snatches it out of the air with a huff and a disapproving look, shaking his head.

I move away from the tavern, smiling when I see Cole hovering over another couple near the alley. I head back the way I came, but I hesitate when I hear something metallic hit something else with a muffled thump. I glance over to see Thom throwing daggers at a practice target. He misses the first one but hits a bullseye on the second.

“Fashionably late,” he grins, glancing up at me. “I thought you weren’t going to show.”

“So you’ve decided to break things,” I sigh with mock-severity.

He chuckles richly. “Never liked the Winter Palace anyway. Too fancy.”

I grin, reaching forward to hug him tightly. He laughs, patting my back in his usual gruff manner.

“So,” he muses as I step back, “tell me everything that happened while I was away.”

“Okay, whew, I’m gonna have to sit down for this,” I chuckle. “So…”

***

“…and after the betrayal,” Thom sighs, “and what I put those men through…my sorries were worth about as much as shit.”

“How many people punched you?” I wonder, trying to lighten the mood as I play with my fingers in my lap.

“I lost count at twelve,” he muses. “But I can take a punch. They needed to know that there’s a way to come back from anything, and I wanted to help them, if I could. I thought going up there on the gallows was difficult. This was worse…a hundred times worse.”

“I’m very proud of you, Thom,” I say quietly, watching him toss and catch a dagger languidly.

“That means a lot comin’ from you,” he replies sincerely. “Anyway…it’s nice to be back, though I’m not sure what to think of this council. No matter what, you know you can always count on my sword arm and my friendship, right?” He tosses the dagger to the target, missing entirely.

I purse my lips.

“Don’t say it,” he chuckles, seeing the look on my face.

“I’m very lucky to have you,” I laugh. “With your throwing arm, our enemies will—”

“Shut it,” he grins.

“I find myself getting a little worried for the palace. And any passersby.”

Thom laughs richly, the sound reverberating off the walls. He glances back down at me, shaking his head. His eyes fall to my waist, and he sobers, moving to sit down beside me. “By the way, I’ve…been meaning to ask…” He gestures vaguely to my stomach. “Solas…hasn’t come back? Sent word? Anything?”

“Ah,” I whisper, looking down. I move my hand over the wolf’s necklace, pressing it flat against my stomach where it hangs. “No…he’s gone.”

“I…imagine it…still hurts.”

I nod loosely, glancing away. “Just…don’t know why he felt he couldn't tell me. Whatever it was, I…would’ve understood.”

“I’m sorry, Sul,” Thom sighs, moving his hand to my shoulder. “You…don’t deserve that. You…” He sighs again. “You’ve got us all behind you, you know that, right? We’re with you.”

“Thanks, Thom,” I smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“Is there…something I can do? Maybe I could help…find him?”

“No,” I smile again. “That’s sweet of you, but I don't think so. Leliana’s being searching…Sera just told me she sent word to her Jennies. No…he’s gone. Very efficiently,” I add dryly.

“Sorry, Sul,” he murmurs again.

I look up at him, straightening. “I’m gonna go see if I can track down some of the others before the Council starts. Care to join me?”

“Ah, no, I’d better work on my aim,” he chuckles.

I laugh, standing. “As you were, then, Ser Rainier.”

He smirks at me, and I make a show of getting out of the way, making him laugh again.

I make it hallway across the courtyard before I look up and see a familiar face. He leans against a column with his arms crossed, listening with the occasional vague nod, but I see his mind is elsewhere.

“_Dorian_!” I exclaim, excitement outweighing propriety.

He glances over at his name, and then he grins widely when he sees me. He murmurs something apologetically to the duke and strides over to me, his grin widening even more when I pick up to a jog. I slam into him, and he catches me with a rich chuckle.

“Think she’ll ever love me that way?” I hear Varric muse.

“I don’t think she’ll ever love _anyone _that way,” Cullen responds, his voice thick with amusement.

“_Dorian_!” I squeal, squeezing him tightly.

“Sul, _Maker_, it’s wonderful to see you. How are you, darling?”

“A trillion times better now that I’ve seen you.”

“I do tend to have that effect.”

I laugh loudly, pulling back to look at him. “You look marvelous,” I say in a fake accent.

“As always,” he agrees, getting the better of me, and I laugh again. “You, lovely Sul, are as radiant as ever. I love your new hair,” he adds, reaching up to tussle it affectionately.

“Why thank you,” I grin. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I add, gesturing to the duke who watches us curiously.

“Interrupt?” Dorian repeats incredulously. “Darling, you _saved _me. Maker, it’s good to see you. Don’t tell me how long it’s been; I despise feeling old.”

I grin widely once more, my cheeks beginning to ache. “Are you having a good Exalted Council so far?” I hum grandly.

“Simply marvelous,” he muses with the same inflection. “I’m positively riveted. I love coming to Orlais. So charming.”

“Wish we could always be here.”

“Don’t pitch that to Josephine. I fear she’d take you seriously.”

I chuckle, hugging his arm.

“This is quite a mess, isn’t it?” he muses, glancing around the courtyard. “Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but _one _ambassador. That’s me, by the way. A ‘reward for my interest in the South.’”

“An award indeed if it means I get to see you.”

He winks at me. “Thankfully, ‘Ambassador Pavus’ is a token appointment. Call on me as you like. Perhaps we can even—”

“Forgive my interruption,” the duke says cordially as he approaches us.

“Ah, yes, more _important _people require your attention,” Dorian smiles. “Come and find me later, alright?”

I nod happily. “It’s wonderful to see you again, _Ambassador_ Pavus.”

“And you, my dear Lady Inquisitor Lavellan, as always,” he murmurs with a lavish bow.

“Inquisitor,” the duke says when Dorian leaves. “Duke Cyril Montfort, a member of the Council of Heralds and Lord of Chateau Haine. I have long followed your work. It is _extraordinary_.”

“Thank you, Duke Montfort,” I reply with a formal nod. “Is that sentiment shared by the rest of the court?”

He smiles. “Quite unfortunately not.”

“Does this mean you feel the Inquisition should continue to rule itself?” I wonder.

“I would rather see the Inquisition join us _freely _than be carved into pieces for the chessboard,” he admits. “I have not forgotten Justinia’s death. I had friends who perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. More than the good you have done, it is the good we may do together I don’t wish to lose. Whatever happens, Inquisitor, I wish you well.”

“Thank you, Duke.”

“Enjoy the rest of the morning while you can, Inquisitor. I imagine the summit shall begin shortly.”

I offer another formal nod at the duke as he passes, and I smile broadly when my eyes catch on Cassandra. She stands near Arl Teagan, her hands clasped behind her back. Her Divine robes brush lightly against the floor, and I wonder if she tried to punch the first person who dared bring the Divine’s traditional cowl to her.

“Divine Victoria,” I say with a broad grin, approaching her. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Cass replies, her eyes bright. “The Arl of Redcliffe was telling me of events in Denerim. He represents Ferelden at the summit.”

“Inquisitor,” he greets brusquely. “Good to meet you.”

“How does Redcliffe fare, my lord?”

“Blessedly quiet. The mayor conveys his greetings. Redcliffe remembers its most recent savior.”

“Excuse me for the intrusion, but I had hoped to steal a moment of the Divine’s time.”

“Very well,” Arl Teagan replies. “We’ll continue this later, Your Perfection.”

Cass watches him go and then gives a heavy sigh. “I am supposed to be impartial while speaking for the Chantry, but I confess that neutrality is beyond me. I may be the Divine, but I will always be your friend, and I can hardly ignore the fate of the Inquisition that I began.”

“Mm,” I muse. “When world powers want to ‘discuss plans for the future,’ I tend to get nervous.”

“I share your concern,” Cass admits. “The Inquisition is still needed. Some delegates do not yet understand that…But I do believe the arl would like your attention. Come and find me when you’re finished. I had something I wanted to discuss with you. And, Inquisitor, if you have need of me, I am ready to assist. Unconditionally.”

I smile widely and then bow, enjoying her sigh when I do. I grin at her as she walks away, armed guards following her. A necessary precaution, but one I’m sure she loathes.

Arl Teagan returns to me. “I’m glad you’ve arrived, Inquisitor. The crown’s anxious for news.”

“How is your nephew?” I wonder.

“The king is well.”

I nod politely. “I imagine you'd like to discuss your thoughts on Ferelden’s position?”

Arl Teagan gazes at me levelly, unapologetically, and I brace myself to maintain diplomacy. “The Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold’s army remains. Ferelden can’t continue to ignore soldiers on its borders.”

I nod. “And while I appreciate the concern and understand your position, you’ll note that the Inquisition has made no advances towards either Orlais or Ferelden in the three years it has existed. We have sought no crowns, waged no wars, demanded no territory. Skyhold rests peacefully between both countries, and we’ve no intention of moving beyond our own fortress. For two years, we’ve helped rebuild the parts of Orlais _and _Ferelden destroyed by Corypheus’ acts.”

Arl Teagan grimaces unhappily. “We appreciate the notion, but the fact remains that Orlais and Ferelden have both handled our own provinces since long before the Inquisition existed. We are, of course, grateful to you and yours for the work you have done, and we are in your debt for sealing the Breach, but that does not permit you to have a standing army outside our borders. You have laid claim to territory in both Orlais and Ferelden, doled out your own judgments and punishments, and have managed to maintain a massive influence over Orlais after ending their civil war. Surely you can understand how that looks to the Ferelden throne.”

“Firstly, Arl, the territory we claimed—what little we claimed—was taken on the edges of massive rifts where our men could safely keep the demons at bay until I could arrive to personally seal them. The judgment doled out by the Inquisition was respected and encouraged by both Orlesian and Ferelden governments. And as to the civil war, we _did _end it, to ensure that Corypheus was not able to take advantage of the situation. As you may recall, it was the Inquisition that prevented the empress from dying and Corypheus’ underling from taking over—I’m sure _you _can understand how necessary and unavoidable that was.”

Arl Teagan gives me a cool stare. “Well, it appears we have a great deal to discuss in the Exalted Council, Inquisitor.”

“Indeed,” I reply.

“I won’t keep you longer. We’ll have words enough when the Council begins.”

I watch him go irritably, gritting my teeth. I rub one of my temples, knowing I’ll be relieved to have Josie beside me in the summit.

I take a few moments to myself to gaze over the fields below the balcony, and then I take the stairs back down to the courtyard quickly. I’m on my way to find Cass, but I stop when I see Varric, Sera, Cole, and Dorian standing around with glasses in their hands.

“…most eloquent dwarf you know, Sparkles—” Varric is saying.

“Speech! Speech!” Sera interrupts before frowning. “_Way too much _speech.”

“Varric,” Dorian complains, “there’s really no need to—” He glances up, freezing when our eyes meet. I smile confusedly, and everyone looks up at me at once.

“What’s—going on?” I wonder, pretending to be suspicious.

Dorian looks worried, but Varric grins. “Snow,” he calls. “You’re just in time for the speeches. Sparkles, the Imperium doesn’t deserve you. Or want you. It may even kill you. But _we’ll _miss you, if it counts.”

I look over to Dorian confusedly, and his expression grows even more concerned before he glares pointedly at Varric.

Varric hesitates, his eyes widening a fraction when he looks at me. “Aaaand you didn’t know,” he sighs heavily. “Okay, folks! Uh—time to take the party elsewhere…”

Sera jumps up, and Cole disappears. Dorian sighs, setting his glass down.

“Dorian? What’s wrong?”

“It’s…” He sighs, glancing at me. “When the Exalted Council has ended, I’m going back to Tevinter…for good this time.”

I look down. I don't know why it hurts so much. I knew that possibility was more likely than any of them returning to Skyhold. “You know I’ll miss you.”

“Naturally,” he says quietly. “I’ll miss you, too.” He glances away from me briefly. “My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe.”

“What? Dorian,” I say, stepping close. “I—I’m so sorry; I didn’t—”

“No, I know. I received notice this morning: a perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. We only met a few times while I was home…He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. This…ambassadorship—his doing, I’m told. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began. I _have _to go back.”

“You’ll need help,” I murmur. “It must be dangerous. I could go with you.”

Dorian gives me a sad smile. “I’m afraid not, darling. I won’t be entirely without support. Maevaris has gathered other magisters who feel as we do. We’ll be an _actual _faction in the Magisterium. I’ll teach them manners—take them shopping. It’ll be fun!”

“Is it safe for you there?”

“About as safe as always,” he answers with a smirk. “I’ll be fine. I know how to handle my countrymen.”

“I—wish you luck then,” I murmur. “And if you ever need anything, please let me know, Dorian.”

“This isn’t goodbye, darling. On the contrary, I have a present for you.” He pulls out a small red box tied together with a matching ribbon. “Go on,” he adds when I hesitate. 

I take it from him, pulling the ribbon free gently. Inside, a small amulet is curled gently. I raise it from the box, admiring the softly glowing blue gem inside. Magic hums from its center, and gold intricately holds the gem in place with a fancy, beautiful design. I glance up at Dorian confusedly.

“It’s a sending crystal,” he grins. “Remember I told you about them? Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to. If I get in over my head, or your overwhelmed with sorrow for the lack of my velvety voice—magic! What—you didn’t think I would just _leave_, and you’d never hear from me again, did you?” he teases.

My eyes flood, and I laugh, my chest tightening. I pull the amulet over my head, tucking the crystal safely under my collar.

“It’s alright, darling,” he muses, pulling me to him. “You are my dearest friend, perhaps my only true friend. That will never change, no matter where we are.”

“Stop making me cry,” I complain, laughing weakly as tears stream down my cheeks.

“I should, really. If you cry, then _I’ll _cry, and then we’ll all be crying, and it’ll be complete chaos for everyone.”

I laugh again, nodding as I pull back.

“Now, don’t spend what little free time you have _entirely _on me. I know Cassandra—excuse me, _Divine Victoria­_—must be eager to see you again, and Cullen has apparently adopted a dog in the fives minutes since you last saw him, so don’t let me get in the way, alright?”

I chuckle, wiping my eyes. “Alright, yes. This dog thing I must see. I’ll see you later?”

“Oh yes,” he promises with a grin. “I’ll be around.”

I smile and walk through the courtyard. I get about twenty feet away when I hear his voice muffled below me. “Miss me already?”

I turn around and laugh, pressing my hand to the sending crystal. Dorian winks and replaces his under his robes. I grin widely, walking backwards a couple steps before I turn around again.

I move past the tavern, smiling when I see Krem and Maryden talking quietly.

Cassandra is pacing when I reach the balcony, her robes brush lightly against the stone beneath her as she goes. Two gold-plated guards wait near her, their hands resting on their swords. I wonder how long she tried to argue with them about the precaution before she relented.

“Ah!” she exclaims, jerking back when she sees me.

I raise my eyebrows, laughing softly when she takes a hesitant step away from me. “Is…everything alright? Something in my teeth?”

“Yes!” she says too quickly. “I mean, no. Yes, everything is alright. No, you do not have something in your teeth. I…Well…I was hoping to speak with you. And…now here you are!”

“Should I…leave and come back so you can start again?” I tease.

She narrows her eyes, smirking. “Always with clever suggestions. Maybe you should sit,” she says, gesturing to the stairs beside us.

“I can stand,” I reply, amused.

“Maybe _I _should sit…”

I follow her to the stairs and sit beside her, tucking my legs in close so I can turn to look at her. I find myself unreasonably amused, discovering delight in her apparent discomfort.

“Inquisitor,” she says, her voice high and nervous. “I…want you to know that I am your friend. I will _always _be your friend.”

“Oh,” I smile. “Cassandra, that’s very—”

“So…I hope to give you sound advice on this momentous day! Do what is in your heart, my friend! No matter what anyone might tell you.”

I frown. “Um…thank…you?” I frown again. “Maybe I _should _leave and come back. I think I missed the beginning. And the middle. Possibly the end, too.”

She gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m talking about marriage!”

“_Marriage_?” I cough, startled.

She nods. “I can’t imagine who it is—Maker knows you’ve kept it secret, but if marriage is…” She glances at me, hesitating. I stare at her, my eyes wide. She opens her mouth a couple times, blinking slowly. “You’re…_not _proposing,” she sighs heavily. “To anyone.”

“I…wasn’t planning on it?”

She stands up angrily. “I am going to _kill _Varric! _Why _do I believe everything he says? _Why_?!”

I chuckle and stand up, ignoring the tight twinge in my chest. “It was very sweet of you to say, Cass.”

She sighs heavily and turns around. “Being Inquisitor has brought you good things—many good things. But only a few have been by your choice. I suppose I believed Varric, because I was hoping that…that maybe you had found happiness again after…everything that happened.” I glance down. “I did not mean to upset you by reminding you,” she adds quietly.

“You didn’t,” I assure her.

“You…still wear his necklace,” she murmurs, gesturing to my stomach.

I nod quietly, moving my hand over it protectively.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I did not want to hurt you. All I _meant _to say was…You _have _had good moments, and you should take what happiness you can from them, and do not let them go. _That _is what I wanted to say. Advice from a friend, for the days to come.”

“Thank you, Cass,” I murmur, smiling at her. “I really appreciate that. It’s very sweet of you.”

She sighs again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to have a word with our dwarven _friend_.”

“Try not to hurt him _too _badly,” I smirk.

I glance over the balcony as Cass and her guards move past me. I run my thumb down the wolf’s jawbone and then move back up the stairs through to the courtyard. I chuckle softly when I see Varric and Cass talking. She appears to be angrily yelling, and he’s fighting a laugh, both of his hands held up innocently.

I watch them, amused, for a moment before I glance over and see Cullen over by a fountain. A mabari rolls around on the ground, wagging his tail happily as he stands. Cullen kneels beside him, smirking before regaining sincerity. 

“You there!” he calls to the dog. “You’re to dodge, not catch. If that ball were a fireball, you’d be dead.”

I grin when I realize it’s more or less one of the first things I heard him say back at Haven—feels like ages have passed since then.

The mabari barks at Cullen happily in response, wagging his tail so hard that the back half of his body wiggles.

“I reckon he’ll be the stubbornest recruit you’ve ever trained, Commander,” I muse.

Cullen smirks up at me. “They don’t breed mabari in Orlais. The merchant said he was abandoned. Perhaps his owners tired of the novelty?”

“Tired of _you_?” I repeat incredulously, looking at the warhound. He turns his head to me, tongue lolling out. He reaches my waist, his head cocking. His eyes are deeply intelligent, and I find myself yet again wondering if mabari can, in fact, understand language, as so many claim. “How could they tire of you, what with that positive attitude and fetching ability?”

The mabari barks loudly again, wagging his tail swiftly back and forth.

Cullen sighs. “He’s not _supposed _to fetch it…”

I laugh. “I don’t think you quite understand how this works.”

“Another Ferelden trapped at the Winter Palace,” he sighs again. “I couldn’t leave him to that fate. Besides, I think he likes me.”

“Well, I never would have expected you to make friends at a political council. How times have _changed_!”

Cullen rolls his eyes with a rich chuckle, his eyes finding mine. “Maybe they have,” he agrees. I smile at him warmly, moving my hands behind my back casually. His eyes fall to my stomach, catching on the necklace, I think, before he looks back down at the warhound. “The Inquisition will change after this…I’m not yet sure what that will mean.” He leans forward to rub the dog’s chest as he rolls around. “Whatever happens, our people…you, Leliana, Josephine—you’ll have my support.” He stands, and I look up at him. “In whatever form you require it,” he adds, his voice full of promise.

“Thank you, Cullen,” I smile. “That means the world to me. If it includes dog training, I’m _completely _sold.”

He laughs, and the mabari looks between us happily, barking. “You can help,” he says to the animal. “Dodge this, and I’ll find overpriced Orlesian dog treats before we go.”

“Looks like you have your hands full here,” I chuckle.

“I stand ready to assist,” he murmurs, looking at me again. “I know I may not be the…best person to be at a diplomatic meeting, but I’ll be in the room—we all will. And we’ll all be behind you, whatever you decide.”

“I appreciate that, Cullen,” I reply sincerely. “It’s…humbling to know how many of you are willing to stay, to help.” I almost wince when I realize how pathetic that sounded. 

His eyes tighten and fall to my waist again, a flicker of what I can only assume is anger. I move my hand over the jawbone, feeling instantly and stupidly protective. I do it as casually as possible, but Cullen notes it all the same. “We’re with you, Inquisitor,” he replies quietly. “All of us.”

I nod softly, and I’m on the verge of replying when Leliana walks over slowly.

“Inquisitor,” she calls quietly, “will you walk with me?”

“Of course,” I nod, glancing at Cullen one last time before I follow her.

She smirks, admiring the walls. “The first time I came to the Winter Palace, I was only eighteen. I was _dazzled. _Such rich hangings, splendid marble columns, more golden lions than I could count. It’s all still here, still bright.” Her expression darkens, and she stops walking, turning to me. “But I no longer see that same palace.”

“Everything changes,” I sigh. “People most of all.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Now all I can see are the knives in the shadows, the poison in jeweled goblets.” She glances over to the arl and the duke as they make their way into the Winter Palace. “They seek to tear the Inquisition down. You feel it, no?” She looks at me again. “Fear.”

“I suppose it’s only natural,” I sigh, “as frustrating as it is. I guess I’d fear anyone with our vault of secrets.”

“It is not our secrets, not our soldiers, that they fear. There have always been spymasters and private armies. They are afraid of nothing so much as the hand that directs it all.”

I sigh, shaking my head softly. “Mine,” I mutter grimly.

“Already your actions have begun to reshape Thedas. Your influence is felt everywhere. It was only a matter of time before they moved. I’m surprised it took this long. It may be time to end things,” she adds quietly.

I blink, shocked into speechlessness for a couple beats. “Are you…breaking up with me?” I joke, only because her decision sounds so final—and it terrifies me.

“We set out to restore peace, and now peace is upon us. But I know from experience how hard it can be to lay down your blade and accept that things have changed. We can still work for the good of Thedas without the Inquisition, but the time for soldiers and spies has passed.” Her expression softens. “You have suffered _terrible _things, Inquisitor. I hope you still see the light ahead of us.”

I look down and away, finding safety in the mountains far away from us.

“The world is ready to move past the horror of the Breach and Corypheus. And so should we.”

“I suppose it’s ultimately selfish,” I murmur, moving my hand unconsciously over the necklace. “Foolish, even, to maintain an organization past its expiration date. It could even be dangerous.”

“But understandable,” Leliana replies.

“It…just feels like we still have so much to do.”

“And we _can _still do it,” she murmurs. “We don’t need the Inquisition’s name to evoke change. You will have me and my resources at your disposal, always, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Whatever you decide, I will be honored to stand beside you.” 

I nod, looking down.

The bells ring loudly across the courtyard, echoing off the walls around us. My heart hammers erratically when I realize it’s calling us in for the Exalted Council. They’re ready to begin.

“This is it,” Leliana murmurs, looking back at me. “I’m certain you have heard this many times today, but…We’re with you, Inquisitor. Good luck.”


	60. Jaws of the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these Trespasser chapters ended up pretty long! It was hard finding clean places to break for new chapters!

“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Josephine says, her voice entirely too patient. I roll my fingers irritably against my temple at the _fifth_ consecutive interruption by the arl. Cass gives him a stern look, gesturing for Josie to continue. “Now, Arl Teagan, as to your concerns—”

“My _concerns_,” Teagan snaps bitterly, glaring at me, “are that the Inquisition established an armed presence in Ferelden territory. You outright _seized _Caer Bronach in Crestwood!”

“Yes,” I exclaim exasperatedly, “from _bandits_! Would you like us to give it back to them?”

“Your help was appreciated two years ago, Inquisitor. Now order has been restored, yet you remain.”

“Have you _seen _the sites of the rifts after _two years_ of exposure?” I demand, my head throbbing from a migraine. “You would not currently _have _Redcliffe if it were not for the Inquisition’s intervention.”

“Invading under the pretext of restoring order is exactly what the Grey Wardens did to us centuries ago, and we exiled them!”

“No,” I correct, standing and pressing my hands flat on the table, “you _exiled _them, because Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden and her men interfered in Ferelden politics and tried to usurp King Arland, a tyrannical leader, by all accounts.” Josephine looks at me in shock, nodding in agreement. I have the ultimate satisfaction of seeing the arl's simmering anger at my research. “We have done _no _such thing, and we have _no _such interests! Our only interest is cleaning up the world Corypheus damn near destroyed.”

“And how does a standing army of your numbers help with that?” Teagan demands. “His soldiers are gone—dead, arrested, or hiding. It’s been _two years_—”

“Your concern is ill-founded,” the duke says to the arl. “The Inquisition has proved its worth countless times in the last two years.”

“Of course Orlais tolerates this interference,” Teagan snaps. “The Inquisition is the only reason Celene still has the throne—proof of the Inquisition meddling in political affairs.”

I gape at him. “Lest you forget, our intervention was the only thing standing between Corypheus and the Orlesian throne. Had he succeeded in Orlais, we surely would have fallen.”

“The Inquisitor is right,” Josephine says, standing as well. “It was the heroic actions of her and her team that allowed us to proceed with—”

“Heroic actions Ferelden has conceded to time after time,” Teagan says. “No one doubts your _heroism, _Inquisitor. It is the future of your decisions that concerns us.” 

“Rest assured, Teagan,” the duke says quickly, “the empire of Orlais will not stand idly if the Inquisition oversteps its bounds. Unlike Ferelden, however, Orlais understands that the complaints you speak of were the well-intentioned mistakes of a _young _organization.”

“And an organization in need of a guiding hand,” Teagan mutters sardonically. “_Yours_, no doubt.”

I wince as my hand suddenly throbs, and I sit down heavily, hiding it under the table as it glows softly. I lower my head, gritting my teeth and holding my breath after a small gasp draws Josie’s attention. She sits down beside me, glancing at me worriedly before speaking loudly to the council. Her words are lost on me as I struggle against the pain, so much sharper than before. I breathe out softly when it fades, relaxing even as it still throbs.

Someone appears at my shoulder, and I look up to see an elven agent lean down to my ear. “Pardon me, Inquisitor,” she whispers softly. “Sister Leliana asked to speak with you in private.”

“Now?” I reply just as quietly, glancing at the council.

“Yes, Your Worship.”

I lean over to Josie as the duke and arl argue again. “Leliana needs to speak with me. I’ll be right back.”

“What, now?” Josie whispers incredulously, her eyes alarmed.

“Yes, I'm sorry. Can you handle the council?”

“I—yes, of course,” she replies.

“Thank you, Josie.” I look up at the council, standing. “Excuse me,” I call, getting their attention. “Something urgent has come to my attention. Please continue speaking with my ambassador until I return. Forgive me, Divine Victoria.” I bow to her deeply and then walk briskly down the aisle.

“This is highly irregular!” the duke complains.

“Are we not even worth the Inquisitor’s time?” the arl demands.

“Please forgive the Inquisitor, Your Graces,” Josephine calls. “I assure you, she takes this matter very seriously. In her absence, I am prepared to proceed with the talks. Duke Cyril—”

I miss the rest of her words as the guards open and close the door for me. I walk swiftly through the hall alongside Leliana’s agent. She leads me into the courtyard and down an alleyway. Nobles surround it, chattering excitedly and anxiously. I detect several notes of confusion in their voices; several more are simply curious, drawn to the scene like moths to a flame. Inquisition guards stand at their center, holding them back professionally.

I frown, following the agent into a shop.

Leliana kneels over a body, but she glances up at me and stands. “Inquisitor,” she greets. “I thought you would want to see this.” She steps back, revealing the body beneath her. My eyes widen in surprise. “A Qunari warrior in full armor,” she muses. “How did he get into the Winter Palace?”

“Would Bull have any idea?” I wonder, unable to contain my shock. 

“I’ve already asked, and he is as surprised as we are. Since becoming Tal-Vashoth, he has had no contact with his people. He seems frustrated at not knowing more,” she adds quietly.

I frown. “How did he even get in here? Surely he would have been…seen.”

“Indeed, you would think that. No one saw anything, save the owners of the shop. They screamed and alerted my agents who promptly set a perimeter until I arrived.”

“What…are your thoughts on this?” I ask, gesturing to the body. “Who do you think he is? Why do you think he…was here?”

“This is a warrior, not a spy,” she replies. “Part of the Antaam, which is the Qunari—”

“Military,” I nod. “I’m familiar.”

“Most of his wounds come from a fight against someone using magic, but at least a few are from a blade. He was badly hurt, separated from his allies, and made it here before he died. But how?”

I frown. “This…can’t be good. We need to find out what’s going on. Can Josie manage the diplomats while I look around?”

“She will be fine,” Leliana replies with a confident nod. “It’s all speeches and posturing for the first few days anyway. I will ask Divine Victoria to call a recess for now. I will also have our friends ready themselves for battle, if need be.”

“You think that’s likely?”

Her eyebrows flicker upwards. “I think the Exalted Council may be more exciting than we expected.”

I make a face. “Find Varric, Cole, Dorian, and Cas—” I sigh, letting her name fizzle out.

“Would you like her to go with you?”

“Yes,” I admit, “but I imagine the Chantry would be less than pleased with me. Everyone I count on is so important now,” I muse. “Make it Iron Bull. Dorian, Cole, Varric, and Bull.”

“As you say, Inquisitor. There is a blood trail that moves out the door, but I have not yet had time to follow it.”

I nod. “Be right back, then.”

I step out the door swiftly and move past the guards. I locate the trail she mentioned easily. A bloody handprint is painted across a white concrete wall, the fingers smeared and shaky. A pool of blood sullies the stone and grass below it, the puddle uneven and smudged on one side. I imagine the Qunari must have stumbled, pressing a hand to the wall before falling. He pulled himself up with difficulty, his legs failing him. He slipped inside the shop and found his death there.

Drop of blood are scattered in thick, careless puddles. Despite his training, he clearly panicked at the hour of his death, staggering and tripping almost mindlessly as he rapidly fled—from where?

I follow the tracks down the road and through an alleyway, their path plainly indicating the lack of destination or plan. He simply wanted to get _away_. I come down another alleyway to see a huge mess. Pieces of lattice lay on the ground, scattered. Blood clings to them, dripping and drying against the stone path. A flowerpot is shattered, and large pool of blood is smeared and spread across the ground, indicating a heavy, clumsy fall. Bloody handprints and bootprints slather the blood across the ground, columns, and lattice as the Qunari tried to find his feet. 

I look up to see the balcony high above. The lattice is broken off at the top, and there’s an unmistakable handprint against the stone of the railing. The Qunari must have come over the balcony, knocking over a flowerpot in his haste. He tried to climb down the lattice, but it broke under his weight, and he fell the rest of the way down.

The lattice looks sturdy enough for me, however, so I reach for it and climb up as swiftly and carefully as I can.

When I reach the top, I see more blood pooled on the terrace, reddened pieces of glass scattered messily across the concrete. The window before me was burst through from the inside. He didn't even feel he had enough time to open it first. I step through carefully, avoiding the glass, and find the trail thicker and messier in the hall, bloody bootprints tarnishing the marble floor from long strides—clearly, he was running fast from whomever killed him. The tracks lead to an opened room; the door lays on the floor several feet away, ripped off its hinges from a devastating blow. Clearly, the warrior slammed into that, too. I don’t see any evidence of his pursuers, but whoever or whatever he ran from was clearly close enough on his heels to beg such a desperate escape.

I move into the room carefully, stepping slowly to find more answers. I freeze when I glance up, my eyes widening in shock. Blinking slowly, I admire the gold frame, the shifting, glowing glass. An eluvian—still activated. What on earth is an eluvian doing _here_? 

The reflection reveals a blurred, hazy vision of gray and pink and a soft hint of blue. Some sort of field or…ruin, perhaps, but I can’t see it well enough to distinguish the shapes or identify the location.

A bloody handprint mars the frame on one side, rivulets of blood rolling down the gold in jagged streams. He came through the eluvian, then—obviously.

I frown.

How did a Qunari warrior armed to the teeth and suited for battle escape through an eluvian into the heart of Halamshiral, mere blocks from the Winter Palace?

I stare at the eluvian, moving my hand over the wolf’s necklace before I walk backwards to find the others.

***

“I hate to be _that_ guy, but…is that thing even safe to go through?” Varric wonders.

“Of course it is,” I reply.

“You—” He laughs. “You say that like this is a normal thing. ‘Oh, yeah, go ahead. Walk through the glowing magical mirror. No big deal.’”

I turn to smirk at him. “You can stay behind if you’d prefer, Varric,” I reply.

“Ha, good one, boss,” Bull grins.

“Just, lead away, would you, Snow?” Varric sighs. “I’m with you and all that crap. You know, when I said that, I didn't think you'd immediately go out and find danger. It wasn't an _invitation_.”

I laugh at that, turning back to the mirror. I press my hand to where the glass should be, feeling it bathe my skin warmly in magic. It hums across my fingers, and I close my eyes, feeling it tug at me playfully, singing softly in my blood. It’s been ages since I’ve felt the rhythm of my people's melody, similar to the way our language feels when spoken aloud. I smile softly, but it doesn’t last long. I step through the eluvian slowly. In the blink of an eye, I find myself in an entirely new location, emerging on a rocky path. I pull my hand up, shielding my eyes from the piercing, almost surreal light from the sky.

The others follow me slowly, appearing behind me.

“This is like the Crossroads Morrigan showed me,” I muse. “Except…brighter. Look—so many eluvians,” I add, pointing across the way.

This section of the Crossroads seems to be impossibly hovering in the sky, rocky bridges connecting island-like masses of stone. The paths are lined with all manner of things, all spread out seemingly at random. Bookshelves and frescos and spindly trees line the walkways. Most notably, however, are the dozens and dozens of eluvians scattered across the fallen ruins of this ancient architecture. Some of them are black, but many are lit, and I stare in awe. The last time I was here, so few were open. They’ve been activated—but by whom?

“Which one do we go to?” Dorian wonders.

“I, uh, think we probably follow the blood trail,” Bull mutters, his voice laced with the word _obviously_.

“Testy today,” Dorian hums.

“Sorry.”

“It’s so colorful here,” I murmur in awe. “It wasn’t like this last time. We were somewhere else, on the ground, but it wasn’t this…alive. The trees are so _beautiful _and vibrant.”

Varric frowns up at me. “The _dead _trees, you mean?”

“No,” I say, pointing to the ones I mean. Gray branches twine softly against each other, beautiful pink buds lining them, ready to unfurl. “The flowers—they’re incredible.”

“What flowers?”

“Yeah, what do you mean, boss?” Bull says.

“Pink and pure—promises of the past,” Cole murmurs.

“Cole sees them,” I gesture.

“Not sure that really helps your case, Snow.”

“You really don’t see flowers?” I ask, frowning at the others.

“I don’t see them, either,” Dorian admits.

I sigh. “Well…they’re definitely there...Let’s go. The trail leads this way.”

"Where's your staff, Snow?" Varric asks. 

I smirk at him. "I don't need it." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Consider me intrigued."

“Just like old times, eh, boss?” Bull chuckles.

I nod quietly. Almost.

I frown at myself in irritation. “The blood trail leads to this mirror,” I call, pointing ahead. “It’s active.”

“Is that good?” Varric wonders.

“Better than being _in_active.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot Snow as hilarious. Did you guys remember that?”

I grin at him and then step through the mirror quickly. My eyes widen, and I stop in my tracks, staring up at the archways and the stonework. Even in the dim light, the style is utterly unmistakable to me now. The stairwell we've arrived at is dark and ill-lit, but I can make out the elegantly carved stone bricks and the sharply curving arches well enough to know them practically by heart. 

“Elven ruins,” I breathe in awe. “I never thought I’d…find myself in one.”

“How can you tell they’re elven?” Varric wonders.

“I’ve been studying elven history and architecture. These are definitely elven, but…” I run my fingers across the stone, marveling. “We can’t be in Orlais anymore; with the exception of the Temple of Mythal, there are no ruins this intact in the country.”

“Where else would we be?”

“They’re eluvians,” I murmur. “We could be…anywhere.”

“That’s…comforting. What if the mirror deactivates while we’re here?”

“That would be unfortunate.”

“Right. Great. This is…just…great.”

I climb up the first flight of stairs, ascending to the second landing. We must be in a tower of some kind, though this stairwell doesn't curve around; rather, it stretches out before us, several flights of stairs leading to a glimmering archway high above. The sun shines through the door, bathing the topmost stairs in a warm, yellow light. When we reach the fourth landing, we see a bloodied body slumped against the wall. “Another Qunari,” I murmur. “Dressed like the one in the Winter Palace.”

“He’s karashok,” Bull says.

“A foot soldier?” I repeat in surprise.

Bull scoffs quietly. “Is there anything you _don't _know now? Yeah, a foot soldier. He must’ve been in the same squad as the other guy.”

“Blood trail continues up the stairs. This one wasn’t so lucky,” I mutter.

“Well, neither was the other one,” Varric points out. “He just made it further.”

I make a face, conceding that point, and move up the stairs again quickly. By the time we reach the top of the tower, I’m breathless. My eyes have adjusted to the dim stairwell to the extent that, when we emerge onto the balcony outside, the sun stabs into them. I hold my hand to it, squinting, and then I drop my fingers, staring in shock at the scene before us.

“Maker’s balls,” Varric breathes.

Many things catch my attention too fast for me to process, but the most demanding is another tower, miles and miles away from us across yellow hills and fields. A green ring of energy bursts from its center, extending evenly outward as the tower smokes and burns. The sound of the explosion takes several seconds to reach us, and when it does, the ground rumbles under our feet, shaking loose pebbles from the ruins behind us.

“What was that?” I wonder.

“What is _that_?” Varric replies, pointing down the few stairs to a verandah.

I look down, and my jaw drops open in shock.

“What happened to them all?” Dorian murmurs, alarmed.

I walk down the steps slowly to the bodies—if they can still be called that. They appear to be statues now. One of them lies on the ground immobile, but the rest are caught mid-swing, as if frozen, but there is no ice. They’re—

“They’re _stone_,” I breathe incredulously. “Or…something like it.”

“Stunned and stunted,” Cole murmurs. “They can’t feel anymore.”

“That’s…comforting?” Varric mumbles.

“A spell did this,” I add. “Someone cast it…not even an hour ago. I can still feel it humming in the air…This is…” I shake my head, unable to finish.

“This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Dorian says, finishing my thought. “And…and I’m from Tevinter…we…specialize in weird magic…”

“It’s not gaatlok, is it?” Varric wonders. “Look at the scorch marks. The burns burst outward from the center.”

“No,” Bull replies. “No, gaatlok wouldn’t have left anything behind. The Qunari don’t have anything like this…”

“They’re all facing the same way, inward, towards the center of the…blast,” I say, for lack of a better word. “Look at their weapons; this was no bomb. They were ready to attack. Whoever did this must have been standing…here,” I say, stepping into the center of the scorch marks. The Qunari surround me, their blades raised and suspended in midair. Everything about them is gray and stone—their eyes, their weapons, even their clothes.

“You seriously don’t know of magic like this?” Bull wonders.

“No,” Dorian and I answer together.

“But it was definitely a mage,” I add.

“An incredibly powerful one,” Dorian agrees. “You can still feel the heat crackling from the spell.”

“Great,” Bull sighs.

“We need to find out what these Qunari were doing here and…who…could do this to them,” I mutter.

“Do you think that explosion at the tower could’ve been the same magic?” Bull asks.

“Possibly,” I shrug. “I’m not sure what else it could have been.”

“Not a gaatlok explosion?” Varric wonders.

Bull shakes his head. “If it’d been the amount of gaatlok required to make _that_ kind of explosion, the tower would’ve fallen.”

“Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” I muse.

“Hopefully not by being the targets,” Varric adds swiftly.

“Yes,” I smirk. “Hopefully by not being the targets.”

“We’ll definitely be the targets,” Bull mutters. “We always are.”

“Glad we have another optimist on the team,” Varric mumbles.

“Just being realistic.”

“Can you be realistic over there?”

“The trail keeps going through that mirror,” Bull says, gesturing past the Qunari bodies.

“The Qunari traveled far to reach the Winter Palace,” I frown. “You saw the Crossroads. There were hundreds of lit eluvians. How did he even reach _that_ eluvian, specifically? It seems so random. He could have ended up anywhere, but he landed on our doorstep—today, of all days, with the Inquisition is in Halamshiral.”

“That is weird,” Bull agrees.

“It feels a little...ominous,” I muse quietly, stepping to the eluvian. “I suppose we’ll find out. Something is definitely going on. Why are there Qunari turned to stone in elven ruins? How did they even activate the eluvians?”

“I don't know, but I don’t like this, boss. Let's be careful.”

Varric groans. “That’s right up there with ‘what could possibly go wrong.’”

I glance back at them and then step through the eluvian. When I emerge through the other side, I find myself on a massive stone bridge. I realize we’re in the same vague area as the tower, just a new location. The same large hills line the horizon, and the same golden prickleweed fields coat them, the hills shifting and flowing rhythmically in the breeze. I glance around to get a better understanding of where we appeared. Apart from recognizing that we’re in a lake, I don’t know how to orient myself.

The bridge before us is incomplete but not broken. Gates line either side of the large gap between us and the rest of the bridge. An elegantly crafted pedestal-like lever rests on our side, as if waiting for something to activate it. Further down the bridge, erected atop a large island, a massive elven ruin stands. At its base, I can make out the telltale signs of an ongoing battle.

“Look,” I say, pointing. “More Qunari. If we want to know why they’re here, we’ve got to get to that ruin.”

“Pity they took the bridge out,” Varric mumbles.

“They didn’t,” Dorian corrects. “Look, it’s some kind of…activation pedestal.”

“Don’t touch it, Sparkles,” Varric says quickly, pulling him back. “You’ll blow us all up.”

“Well, it has to work _somehow_.”

“Something’s missing. Look, the one across the way has some kind of—statue thing in the plate thing. This one’s missing it.”

“Mm. Eloquent. Remind me, what is your profession?” Dorian wonders.

Varric gives a heavy sigh. “I didn't invent this shit. How am I supposed to know what it's called?”

“Hey, boss, look—another eluvian,” Bull says, pointing.

I follow his gaze and hesitate, my chest tightening stupidly. I see the eluvian, but I also see twin wolf statues adorning it and the bridge, their heads thrown back in howls. A flood of memories of the Temple of Mythal rush at me, unbidden and unwelcome, and I frown at myself.

“The blood leads across the bridge,” Dorian points out.

“Yeah, but we don’t have a way to get across the bridge,” Bull argues, “unless you feel like swimming. So we might as well see where the mirror goes.”

“Fair point,” Dorian concedes.

I glance back at the fighting on the island and then take the few stairs down to the eluvian. “Come on,” I murmur.

On the other side, I find myself at the foot of a steep flight of stairs. I look around, disoriented, and then I spot something on the horizon.

“Look,” I say, pointing. “The tower we arrived at.”

“Oh,” Dorian sighs. “Then…this is the one that exploded. Wonderful.”

I make a face and climb the stairs, smoke irritating my lungs.

“What is that?” Varric mumbles.

I look up when we reach the top to see an enormous purple figure, the size of an Avvar warrior, but it glows like—

“A spirit,” Cole smiles.

“What kind?” I wonder.

“A guardian.”

The spirit takes the form of a warrior, a heavy war hammer resting on its shoulder as it stands completely still.

I walk to it slowly, encouraged when it doesn’t attack outright. Behind it, four smaller spirits wait, their bows drawn in preparation. 

“Atish’all vallem,” the large spirit greets, its voice warm and polite. “Fen’Harel elathadra.”

“The elves bound a spirit here?” Dorian whispers. “It feels…old. Very old.”

“Fen’Harel?” I repeat, stepping closer.

“Nuvenas mana helanin, dirth bellasa ma.”

“What’s it saying?” Bull asks.

“I-I don’t know," I admit. “I-It’s not a dialect I’m familiar with. It’s…_ancient_. I-I’ll try something.” I look up at the spirit warily. “Andaran atish’an, setharan—”

“Virthar ma. Na din’an sahlin!” The spirit brings its war hammer down, and the bowmen draw their arrows.

“Well done, boss,” Bull says.

“Thanks, Bull. That makes me a lot better,” I call back as he charges forward. “Anyone else want to pile on, comment on the incompetent elf’s lack of knowledge?” I demand. I thrust my right hand out, breathing out quickly to form a golden sword. It hums in my fingers, its handle solid and powerful in my fingers. I follow Bull, gripping the sword tightly in one hand. 

“I don’t—think you’re—incompetent,” Bull replies, dodging a heavy swing. “I think—you’re distracted.”

“Distracted?” I scoff, dodging an arrow and thrusting my spirit blade into one of the archers' chests. Cole appears behind another as Dorian erects a massive firewall around the last two.

“Yeah, you’re—all impressed with this—you’re not focusing,” Bull replies, slamming his large hammer down to the spirit. It goes straight through without harming it.

“I can’t—interpret a language I don’t _know _even if I’m _not _distracted. I didn’t—understand it any better than you did. It’s a different—_dialect_,” I argue breathlessly, running forward to join his efforts. “How would you feel—” I thrust my blade into the large spirit's back. “—if this was a Qunari ruin?” The spirit staggers forward, my gold blade delving deep before the guardian disappears. 

“Children, can we please have this discussion later?” Dorian asks sweetly. “Perhaps when we’re not being attacked by angry elven spirits?”

“Sorry,” Bull and I say in unison.

I jog forward to the last spirit, knocking aside its spiritual bow and thrusting my sword into its chest. The spirit flickers and then disappears. I breathe out heavily and relax, allowing my blade to disappear again. 

"Uh, okay, for the record, Snow, your new style of fighting is...insanely cool."

I laugh breathlessly once before sobering up. “I think that spirit considered us intruders,” I say quietly, standing straight again.

“To be fair…” Varric murmurs, “we are.”

“Still…How long had it stood guard here?” I shake my head, my chest tight. “I wish we didn’t have to kill them.”

“Them or us, Snow,” Varric replies softly.

“It must have been guarding something,” Dorian offers. “Let’s find out, hm?”

I nod and walk around the far side of the tower. The balcony is squared off, limiting how far we can go. I don’t see a door or a window to the tower—no way we can enter. No _visible _way, at least.

I glance at the now-broken bridge leading to the foothills opposite us. Whatever blew it still burns, thick smoke billowing up to blanket the sky and blot out the sun. I’m watching it when my hand suddenly flares. I gasp in surprise, expecting it to hurt, but it doesn’t. I breathe out slowly, feeling my skin hum instead.

“It—I think it’s reacting to that wall,” Varric says, pointing.

Beside us, against the tower, is a large mural. Gold bricks hum with green energy as the Anchor gently pulls me that way. I raise my hand to the wall, wincing. Green energy connects me to the wall, licking across my skin like the rifts used to.

“Does it hurt?” Dorian asks.

“N-no,” I reply. “Not really. It just feels…odd. Like it’s…opening something? Wait, it’s—” I blink rapidly, feeling a powerful wave of magic crash over me, its tendrils warm and inviting. I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of security and safety—so much that it staggers me with relief.

“What’s wrong?” Dorian wonders urgently, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Sul?”

“It’s…it feels…welcoming. I’m—I can see—”

“What? What are you seeing?”

“I…Elves,” I answer. “Elven slaves…fleeing to this place in ancient times. They’re…greeted by those who—tend to their wounds. There’s—I can hear something…not _hear _it…I feel it…like words, but…” I frown, shaking my head, unsure how to describe it.

“What’s it saying, Snow?” Varric asks softly.

“It’s…” I close my eyes, focusing on the way the magic hums and flows through me, a gentle, sweet song that brings relief where there was grief. “‘Fen…Fen’Harel…bids you welcome. Rest, knowing the Dread Wolf guards you, and his people guard this valley. You are free. In trusting us, you…you…will never be bound again.’”

I open my eyes, tears flooding them. I cry out before I can process anything, my hand recoiling from the wall. Dorian catches me when I stumble back, and I raise my right hand to my face, covering my eyes. Pain rips through my hand, blinding and staggering me. I hold my breath, waiting it out.

“Sul? What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I gasp, shaking my hand out. “Just a little—sore,” I lie. “I don’t understand.”

“What?”

I look up at the mural to see that it’s disappeared, revealing a tall eluvian inside a small, empty room. I shake my head. “Fen’Harel is…” I look down, pressing my right hand over the wolf’s jawbone. I clutch it tightly, wishing fervently that he was here for this, to help me understand. For so many other reasons, too. “Elven slaves fled to Fen’Harel—I saw it and heard it and…and _felt _it. They fled to him, and he…he protected them. Why—why would we paint him as a villain when he…he _freed _slaves and saved lives, offering sanctuary and respite.”

“Wait, the ancient elves kept slaves?” Varric repeats, and I realize I never shared that with them after I had my vallaslin removed. “And you _knew _that?”

“I—found it out…two years ago,” I admit.

“Maker’s breath,” he mumbles, “that’s another thing to never tell Daisy.”

“This whole valley was a sanctuary,” I say unevenly, shaking my head. “Created by the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel. This doesn’t make any sense…He’s always a god of-of misfortune—a _trickster_.”

“You said you didn’t believe that,” Varric replies quietly.

“I don’t, but the rest of them do,” I say, my voice rising. “My _entire _life, despite my clan's differing views, all I heard was, ‘don’t let the Dread Wolf hear your steps’ or ‘never let the Wolf catch your scent.’ I don’t—I don’t _understand_!”

“Look, Snow, maybe…maybe we’ll figure it out along the way. None of this shit ever makes any sense to me.”

“How could we be so _wrong _about…about _everything_,” I breathe, barely audible.

“Don’t say that,” Cole murmurs. “For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right.”

“Cole,” I gasp, recoiling in pain. “P-please—d-don’t do that.”

“What was that?” Bull says. “What’d he do?”

“He was right,” Cole says softly.

“We should keep going,” I say brusquely, turning around as tears slip down my cheeks. I move to the eluvian and slip through swiftly, coming through to the other side. I wipe my face quickly before the others arrive. “That eluvian only took us a short distance,” I muse, glancing back briefly. We’re on a new tower, but it’s the same area. Below, I see the small island and the bridge from before. “That’s the same lake we saw from the other tower.”

“Good for moving around a city,” Bull says thoughtfully, “visiting friends, deploying guards…”

I rub my head and move up a flight of stairs to the left, circling the tower.

“There—” Varric says.

I look up in time to see a purple spirit run around a corner ahead of us, disappearing from sight. I jerk forward, running after him as I hear the spirits whisper and mutter to each other above us on the balcony. I slip on a stair and rush up them as quickly as I can to see them all run to and disappear behind another mural. Three more Qunari bodies are strewn across the ground—these are bloodied, though. Not the work of our mage, apparently. 

“Cuts all over the back,” Bull says. “He was killed by surprise.”

“This can’t have happened too long ago,” I murmur. “The blood’s not even try yet. So…at least two different people killing—or two factions, possibly. One that uses strange magic, the other simple blades.”

“Wanna try your hand at the mural, Snow?” Varric asks, hesitating before he chuckles weakly. “That…wasn’t intended to be a play on words.”

I look up at it, hesitating when I see the imagery depicts a wolf standing behind several armed elven guards. My hand flickers and jerks towards it eagerly, and I hold it up, feeling and watching the Anchor connect to it.

Another powerful wave of magic washes over me, this one imbued with so much hope that my eyes flood as I close them.

“What do you see, Snow?”

“It…It’s a man in a wolfskin headpiece standing with a group of freed slaves, clasping one’s arm in…in friendship. I can hear…feel…more words. ‘Fen’Harel has been falsely—’” My eyes flash open.

“What?” Varric asks.

I stare at the wall. “‘Fen’Harel has been...f-falsely named a god but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no…’” Tears flood my vision once more, and I continue thickly, my voice wavering. “‘He takes no divine mantle and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who…who would help willingly. Let…let none be beholden but by choice.’”

My hand recoils again, and I jerk back, shaking it out as pain lances across my skin like fire. The mural disappears, revealing a long flight of stairs that winds deep into the tower.

“You okay, Snow?” Varric murmurs.

“Yeah,” I whisper flatly, taking the stairs down slowly.

“Kind’a curious that this guy has to specify that he _wasn’t _a god,” Bull muses.

“Yeah,” Varric snorts. “‘Ordinary guy saves people, accidently founds religion.’ Sounds a lot like the Chant, actually.”

“Guess he really was a rebel,” Dorian adds.

I stare at the walls as we go, careful when we delve deeper into the dark chamber. We come to another mural, and I stare at it for a long moment before allowing the Anchor to connect with it.

“What’s this one, Snow?”

A powerful sensation fills me staggeringly. “This one feels…angry—bitter. I see…elven mages enslaving—” I swallow thickly. “—tens of…thousands.” My breath falls from me, and my throat closes. “They’re…making arrogant p-proclamations of…of godhood. I…I can hear…‘The gods, our Evanuris…claim divinity, yet they are naught but mortals powerful in magic who can die as you can…In this place, we t-teach those who join us to unravel their…their lies.”

The mural fades, and I see a large room stretch out before us. A tree-like statue hangs upside from down the ceiling. A powerful green ball of energy spikes within it, lighting the room brilliantly with snaps like lightning.

Bull hums thoughtfully. “Whoever ran this place was trying to rebuild the slaves’ confidence. Get rid of the old propaganda.” 

“If that’s true…” I say quietly, slowly. “Fen’Harel was teaching these freed slaves the truth about these…false gods. The Evanuris is...” I shake my head, unable to process or digest the thought. 

“Guess we’re seeing why he might’ve been remembered as a villain to the Dalish,” Varric mumbles. “The rest of the pantheon must’ve remained strong, despite his efforts.”

“But…” I shake my head, letting the argument drop.

But how could we worship slavers and condemn a savior?

I walk into the room slowly. The orb at the top of the room suddenly flares, and I cry out when my hand reacts. Fire blinds me, and I gasp, clutching my wrist.

“You’re hurt!” Cole exclaims.

“Are you alright?” Dorian says just as fast.

“Y-yeah,” I say shakily. “I-it’s just been flaring up; i-it’s fine.”

“For how long?”

“Just today,” I lie.

“What’s it—doing?” Bull asks.

I look down to see my hand getting brighter, the glow from it illuminating the entire room. I wince, clenching my teeth. I gasp as my hand flares again, shining brilliantly on the paintings along the walls and a totem in the middle under the upside-down tree.

“That looks like it’ll fit the bridge,” I say, pointing to it. “Dorian, would you mind—”

“Got it, Sul,” he says reaching for it.

I flex my fingers.

“Does it hurt, Snow?”

“N-no,” I say. “It just…feels…odd.”

“Can you—I don’t know, turn it off?”

“I’m not sure how.”

“Alright…let’s just…get back to the bridge, alright?”

***

We pass through the eluvian quickly, returning to the bridge on the lake. Dorian moves ahead of us and places the wolfen statuette on the holder. As soon as it connects, the pedestal shifts and moves down into the stone of the bridge. When it reaches the bottom, it spins softly, and the roar of stone fills my ears deafeningly. I watch as the bridge rises from the lake, water rushing off it loudly. Seaweed and moss cling to the stone as it shifts into place, and the gates move down, giving us access. We walk across it quickly, making our way to the other side.

“More scorch marks,” I say, pointing.

“_That _is from gaatlok,” Bull says. “You can still see parts of the canisters.”

“Wonderful,” Dorian says in a falsely eager voice. “Oh, and look, more of your countrymen here to kill us. How charming.”

My hand aches as we fight, but I focus my energy on my spirit blade, clashing against Qunari blades with my own. Countless hours spent training with my trainer, Krem, and Cullen have made me a proficient arcane warrior, and I feel a thrill run through me, despite my grief, at all my hard work paying off. 

We fight our way through the courtyard and into a sanctuary-like ruin, its architecture designed to be a place of worship, I imagine. Or one for reverence.

Bull is, as always, terrifying with his hammer, and I give him plenty of berth to fight uninhibited. I run parallel to him, surprising several Qunari with my blade. I throw up a shield around Bull when he miscalculates one of the warrior's intention. Dorian’s fire dances across the field gracefully. 

We work our way through the sanctuary slowly, clearing sections as we come to them. By the time we’re finished, I’m completely breathless and exhausted, and Bull is covered in blood. It flecks my Dalish robes, too, to my chagrin. There is a downside to fighting so up close and personal, but I feel more useful, more powerful at the the front of the lines. It's easier to forget about my left hand when I use my spirit blade. 

“Why—did those Qunari—attack the Inquisition on _sight_?” I demand, gasping for air as I let my sword dissipate again.

“They wouldn’t’ve done that without orders,” Bull replies grimly.

“Great,” Varric sighs.

I wait until I’ve got my breath and until Varric is done collecting his bolts, and then I climb the next flight of stairs. We come to a small room with a large wolf statue sitting in the center, gazing at the wall to its right. The entire room is decorated with a single image, the mural reflected on both the left and right walls identically. The style feels somewhat familiar, and I cock my head at it, intrigued. Before I can even understand what I’m seeing, Dorian points behind me.

“What’s this?” he wonders. I glance back to see a stone pillar with an inlaid inscription.

I move closer, leaning down to read the elven words. “It says, ‘The Dread Wolf keeps its gaze on the one light that illuminates the way forward.’”

“Great,” Varric mumbles. “That’s not vague at all.”

“Here,” Dorian says, lighting a veilfire torch. “Might be useful.” He hands it over to me, and I nod, looking past him.

“That’s…Fen’Harel,” I murmur, walking closer to the mural. The figure stands with his face hidden behind a wolf-like cowl. His hand is outstretched to a line of elves before him, their skins tattooed, but behind him—

“What is he doing?” Dorian wonders.

My heart stops, and I drop the veilfire torch, stepping back from the wall.

“Ar lasa mala revas,” Cole whispers sadly.

“Snow? You’re pale—what’s wrong?”

I move a hand to the wolf’s necklace, feeling dizzy and shaky.

It can't be.

“Suledin, are you alright?” Dorian says, looking at me concernedly.

I stare at the mural, my eyes widening.

It hits me staggeringly with a blinding intensity—his knowledge of the Fade, his disdain for the Dalish, the way he fought with Morrigan at the Temple of Mythal, his necklace, his murals, the language he spoke that I couldn’t understand, the wolves that shepherded me to the Inquisition camp after Haven, the wolf he left behind on the wall and the way it bowed to—

“Suledin,” Dorian says, gripping my arms worriedly.

“He—my vallaslin,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “He—S-Solas removed it. He…he told me what it was, what it meant, and h-he removed it—” _No_…no, no, no…this can’t be real—this can’t be…

“W-what?” Dorian says.

The orb—his devastation when it broke.

_Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. _

His orb.

“Did you know?” I whisper, looking at Cole.

“He has a very old pain,” Cole answers quietly.

“What is going _on_?” Varric demands. “Snow, what are you saying?”

“It’s—Solas.”

“What’s Solas?”

“He…He’s…” I look up. He can’t be—how is this possible—how could I not know, how could I not _see_—

“You—_what_?” Varric demands. “Are you—you’re saying that _he’s _Fen’Harel? _Chuckles_? That's impossible!”

My heart hammers in my chest, and I raise my hand to my mouth.

“He—countless people could know how to remove vallaslin,” Varric says.

“It’s permanent,” I reply, my voice wavering. “I-it isn’t _meant _to be removed. The stories all showed _him _removing it—n-no one else—” I point to the elves. “H-he told me they were slave markings from…from ancient—”

_My deepest journeys in the Fade._

Another memory hits me so hard that my knees give out, and I press both of my hands to my mouth.

The dream—it took me so long to remember it, but I didn’t know who it was.

Mythal and Fen’Harel.

Flemeth and Solas.

_You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf. _

No—no, no, no—what does this—this can’t be real—this can’t be—

“All new, faded for her,” Cole murmurs. 

I stare at the floor, my chest so tight I can't breathe. 

“What does that mean, kid?” Varric asks. "You've said it before."

“I don’t understand,” I gasp, raising my hands to my temples. I move them again to pick up the wolf necklace off my stomach. The jawbone—alright right there, _so obvious_. How could I not have seen—

Tears flood my eyes, and I cover them.

How could I not have seen _him_?

Thousands of images race through my mind—sitting with him on that couch, my feet propped up on his legs; his voice so gentle when he read to me, the amusement in his smile; the brightness of his eyes when he discussed the things he’d seen in the Fade; he knelt before me—a _god_; his magic, the spell he used to tame the Anchor—that’s why he knew—that’s _how _he knew what it was, how to help; the unique blue of his magical energy, the same as Mythal’s when I met her; his writings, so old and unfamiliar to me—_how could I not have seen_—

That’s why he left.

The realization staggers me, grief gripping my chest, tightening around my lungs with a suffocating strength.

That is why he left.

“Wait, say that again, Cole,” Bull says.

Cole looks down. “All new, faded for her.”

“Wait, that's...yeah, I think it’s…an anagram. Unscrambled, it says—”

I close my eyes, tears streaking down my cheeks. “Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf.”


	61. Rise on Burning Wings

Bull, Dorian, and Varric are talking quietly several feet away from me. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can feel their eyes on me. I don't bother returning their glances. I simply stare up at the mural with Cole standing right beside me.

“_Did _you know?” I wonder softly.

“He wouldn’t let me see,” Cole replies unhappily. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” I say, looking at him. “Even if you had known…I understand.” I rub my eyes and sigh, looking at the ground for a moment before I push off the stone railing. I move my hand over the wolf’s necklace and clear my throat. “Guys. Hey, guys,” I say louder, earning their attention. “This doesn’t change—” It changes everything. “—what we came here to do,” I swiftly correct. “We need to keep going, figure out what that Qunari was doing and who killed him.”

Varric gives me a soft look, his eyes concerned. “You sure you wanna keep going, Snow?”

“Of course I do,” I reply firmly. “But…” I look down and then back up. “You’re all my friends…my family.” I look at them closely. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Let me decide who needs to know and when they need to know it. He kept this secret for a reason, so please—”

“We won’t tell anyone, Snow.”

“Of course,” Dorian agrees.

“No worries, boss.”

“Thank you,” I reply, trying to keep my voice firm. “Now…for the clue. Dorian, could you get another torch?”

I look at the words again, reading carefully to make sure I’m not translating incorrectly. _The Dread Wolf keeps its gaze on the one light that illuminates the way forward. _

Its. Not his.

I glance at the statue in the middle of the room. Its eyes bore into one of the many veilfire braziers adorning both walls. I thank Dorian when he hands me the torch and walk to the right brazier, lighting it swiftly. Greenish fire quickly spreads across the wood, casting long shadows over the mural above. I step back and move to the statue, searching briefly before I find a small stone set against the solid platform—a button.

I press it quickly, and the wolf statue slides loudly and slowly across the floor, revealing chains that levy it into place. A flight of stairs delves deeper into the sanctuary, and we walk down them slowly. When we reach the bottom, we find another gold and green mural that reacts with my hand. I lift it slowly, wincing.

I frown, focusing on the images and the emotions attached to them. “This one feels like…determination,” I murmur. “There’s…former slaves in ranks with F-Fen’Harel, armed and strong…Their skin is clear; their vallaslin is gone. I can feel the words…‘The brand of the Evanuris can be lifted from you, that all may know you oppose their cruelties.’” _You deserve better than what those cruel marks represent. _“‘None here are slaves…All are under our protection. All may choose to fight.’” _Ar lasa mala revas. _

My eyes flood again, this time with pride. He freed them, saved them…protected them.

I grunt when the mural releases me, shaking out my hand as if to curb the pain. It glows brighter in these dim halls, flaring more strongly—and with it, the pain grows.

“Hidden weapons,” I whisper, moving into the room the mural revealed. Dozens of racks of swords and bows line the walls. Countless shields and staves rest against tables and chairs. “An armory. These freed slaves actually fought back against the Evanuris posing as gods.”

“Interesting word, Evanuris,” Dorian muses. “If all it means it ‘mage leader,’ well…they were basically magisters.”

I glance back at Dorian.

“Disturbing thought,” Varric mutters, voicing my thoughts.

But a true enough one.

We make our way deeper into the armory, traveling down a flight of stairs into a large bunker. Hundreds of weapons line the walls or are gathered atop the many crates strewn across the bunker. Rooms off to the side of the large area reveal bunk beds and studies, likely similar to our war room back at Skyhold. I shake my head slightly looking around. This wasn’t even just some light skirmishing. The weapons, the number of beds in each of the rooms—this was a genuine rebellion—a war.

Ahead of us, far on the other side of the room betwixt columns and barrels of bolts and arrows is another eluvian. A dozen Qunari stand between it and us, and they shout angrily in their own language when they see us, calling orders to each other as they prepare to attack.

I feel too torn to follow Bull and Cole into battle. Rather than conjure my spirit blade, I concentrate as much as I can with keeping them covered and protected as I fight alongside Varric and Dorian. Bull gives a great laugh, kicking off a table and launching himself into the first Qunari that reaches him. His hammer hits hard, and Cole flits around the room sporadically, his daggers lethal and unpredictable. Dorian summons one of the dead Qunari in a way that still makes me a little uncomfortable, and the glowing Qunari stumbles before charging alongside Bull, turned against his own kin in death. I rise a fire wall between Bull and several Qunari with throwing staves, and they raise their hands to block the light and heat. Before I can even think of pushing the wall any further to them, Cole appears behind several of them, disappearing to the other side of the room as they fall to their knees and then their backs.

“He’s a terror on the field,” Dorian mutters, swinging his staff wildly.

At first I think he means Cole, but then I see Bull roar and slam his hammer against a fallen Qunari hard enough to probably crack the stone below. Needless to say, the Qunari doesn’t rise again.

As soon as the battle is over, Bull leans over the bodies, searching their pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here, boss,” he calls breathlessly, holding up a note as he unfolds it. Dorian and I jog over to him, and Cole appears on the crates beside us, sitting uncomfortably. “It’s written in Qunlat. ‘I have read your reports. Station your people in the abandoned elven towers by the lake. It is a short distance from its entrance to the mirror that connects to Halamshiral. We will need the space to lodge our people after infiltration is complete.’ There’s a map here of that Crossroads place we were at…arrows directing to the eluvian at the Winter Palace.”

“For an _invasion_?” Dorian exclaims.

“This is crazy!” Bull says, his eyes disturbed. “They’re acting like we’re at war!”

“_Are _we?” I wonder, my heart hammering.

He sighs, dropping the letter before raising his hand to his face. He runs his fingers down his jaw, shaking his head as he looks down at me. “I don’t know, boss,” he admits. “I wish I did.” He shifts his weight before eyeing another body. He moves to it, rifling through the Qunari’s pockets swiftly until he emerges with another slip of paper. “This one’s all bloody,” he frowns, struggling to see. He brings it closer, and I conjure a flame. “Thanks, boss. ‘Two hours ago, an unknown intruder penetrated our defense. Masked and cloaked. A mage. Used magic to awaken spirits and turned them against us. Intruder moved as if they knew this place. Fled after spirits awoke. Dozens dead. Spirits keep attacking. Engagement not rec…recommended…’ Ah, I can’t make out the rest. Too bloody.”

“Two parties, then,” Dorian muses quietly. “The Qunari and this mysterious mage, an apparent agent of this _Fen’Harel_. Wonderful. And here I thought a trip to the South would be dull, uneventful.”

“It’s Thedas, Sparkles,” Varric sighs. “Nothing’s uneventful.”

“Come on,” I say quickly. “We have to get back to the Winter Palace—warn the others.”

***

Cullen sighs heavily, running a hand over his face. “One dead Qunari was bad enough. Now we have more, and they’re hostile.”

“This makes _no _sense,” Josie says, frowning at the others. “The Qunari may not be…_friendly_ to the Inquisition, but they have no reason to attack us.”

Leliana makes a face. “They also have no reason to be here—or using eluvians—at all.”

“I’ve had the mirror placed under guard for now,” Cullen says to me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, shifting my weight as I cross my arms. “It appears the relative peace and quiet of the last two years is coming to an end.”

Cullen shakes his head, appearing almost as exhausted as I feel. “First the Blight, then mages and templars, then Corypheus, and now this. Can’t we go ten years without the world falling to pieces?”

“Evidently not,” I murmur, moving my hand distractedly over the wolf’s jawbone.

“We must ensure that the Qunari do not disrupt the negotiations,” Josie says quickly. “The Exalted Council is in a _very _delicate state.”

Cullen glances at her impatiently. “I’m certain you can soothe the nobles’ ruffled feathers while we solve the _real _problem.”

Josie glares at him, offended. “_Not _when the Inquisitor insults everyone present by _walking out _in the middle of the talks!” she exclaims.

“That was my fault, Josie,” Leliana murmurs, moving her arms behind her back.

“Our _only _advantage is that Orlais and Ferelden are divided in goal and grievance. If they unite against us, Divine Victoria will have no choice but to support their claims! We could lose_ everything_!”

“Be that as it may,” I allow quietly, “the Qunari must be our top priority. I understand what you’re saying, Josie, and I’m sorry, but we can worry about the politics later when we aren’t under threat of a Qunari invasion…or whatever this is.”

“My apologies,” Josie sighs, looking down. “I will attend to the Exalted Council, Your Worship. You needn’t worry on that front.”

“I’m not fussing at you, Josie,” I murmur. “And I _do _apologize for just leaving you to deal with them by yourself, but…even Iron Bull is alarmed by this, and that terrifies me. I have to see where this leads before it blows up in our faces.”

“While Josie takes care of the Council,” Leliana adds, “we will investigate further.”

I nod. “I’ll head back to the Crossroads soon. We need to find out what the Qunari are doing here and why they attacked.”

Cullen rests his hands on his sword pommel. “And I’ll have a quiet word with our honor guard.”

“Inquisitor, it’s late,” Josie says. “You should rest for the night, proceed in the morning.”

“I fear we have little time,” I reply.

“You _should _rest,” Cullen agrees. “You look drained.”

I nod slowly, raising a hand to my eyes.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Leliana murmurs.

I drop my hand slowly and look up at her, my other fingers clasped tight around the wolf bone around my neck. I nod quietly, my throat closing up. My heart begins to hammer in my chest, thudding in my ears. 

The others watch me uncertainly, their expression growing concerned as the silence drags on.

“What’s wrong, Suledin?” Cullen asks softly.

“I, uh…” I frown at the table, licking my lips quickly when the lower one trembles slightly. I sigh and lean my free hand against the table, suddenly exhausted.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana says worriedly.

“We…discovered something while we were tracking the Qunari,” I admit quietly, my voice tight and hoarse. I clear my throat. “I, uh…wasn’t going to say anything, but…” I look up at the others. “I trust you all, and I…I’m not sure if this will be relevant, so…” I realize my posture is weak, and I don’t want to appear that way. I stand upright, even though it’s difficult, but I can’t move my hand from the necklace.

“What is it?” Josie asks quietly.

I blink at the table and then look up at them as evenly as I can. “Are you all familiar with F-Fen’Harel?” I hate how my voice fails on the name.

Cullen frowns when he notices the tremor, his eyes dropping to the way my hand clutches the wolf’s jawbone before flicking back up to mine.

“Of course,” Leliana answers.

“No,” Josie replies at the same time. “Not _entirely_, that is.”

Leliana glances at her. “He is a member of the Dalish pantheon, the trickster god of misfortune. Legend has it, he tricked the other gods into the Fade and locked them there where they could not help their people. The Dalish invoke his name as a curse or a threat.”

I weaken somewhat, my chest growing so tight I can’t breathe.

“Suledin?” Cullen murmurs.

I clear my throat. “We’ve learned…so much about Fen’Harel in the ruins we discovered,” I say quietly, looking up at Leliana. “He…wasn’t a god of misfortune. He…wasn’t a god at all,” I add in a whisper, frowning. I square my shoulders and force the rest to come out as solidly as I can. “None of them were, according to what we saw in the ruins. They must have just been…powerful mages. At any rate, Fen’Harel was not a trickster; he _was_ a rebel. The other members of the Evanuris were enslaving other elves, marking them with vallaslin to identify which slave belonged to which member of the pantheon.” Josie’s mouth drops open, but I continue. “That’s what the vallaslin meant, and that’s why I had it removed. Fen’Harel…was a member of the pantheon, but he disagreed with…” I blink quickly, my chest tightening again. “He disagreed with the Evanuris, and he evidently fought against it, freeing slaves so they could choose to fight back against the would…the would-be gods.”

“Andraste,” Josie breathes.

“Maker’s Breath,” Cullen seconds, disturbed.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana says, her voice soft. “I’m…so sorry. That must be…jarring.”

I almost laugh. Some twisted, exhausted part of me almost does, but my eyes sting instead, and I lower them.

“There’s more,” Leliana says.

I move my head back to stare at the spot where the wall meets the ceiling, struggling for a moment as the others wait, watching me. The jawbone aches in my hand, its edges biting into my sweaty palm. I don’t even know how to dodge around it, so I try just blurt it out, my voice tight and flat. “Solas…" My voice fails on his name, and I clench my jaw, forcing myself to regain control. "Solas is Fen’Harel.”

A stunned silence follows my words; I can’t even hear if anyone is breathing. I look down at the table before glancing at the others.

Leliana’s eyes have grown wide, despite her usual nonchalance. Cullen is frowning, blinking rapidly as his eyes fall to my hand around the necklace again. Josie’s mouth has dropped open again, and her quill clatters to the ground when it slips from her grasp.

“Wh-what?” she asks, recovering first. “That’s—_what_?”

“He is…?” Leliana replies, her voice appalled. “He—he is an ancient eleven _god_? How—how is that possible?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But it’s true.”

“H-how can you be sure?” Josie asks.

“I’m sure,” I reply.

“_How_?”

I close my eyes briefly, gathering strength. “Solas removed my vallaslin…When we returned from the Temple of Mythal…” I hate myself when my eyes flood. It shouldn’t still hurt this much. “He told me what they meant, and he removed them. I saw in the elven ruins today that…Fen’Harel removed the vallaslin from the others’ slaves. He freed them…as he did me.”

“That…doesn’t mean it’s him,” Leliana breathes. “It…can’t be, surely?”

“It is,” I whisper thickly. “It all makes sense, doesn’t it? His knowledge, his abilities, his disappearance…He _is _Fen’Harel. I…thought you should know. I’m not sure if this is relevant, but…”

“Andraste guide us,” Josie breathes. “I thought we knew him; I thought…Andraste, forgive me, Inquisitor, that was…”

“That bastard,” Cullen says.

I look up at him sharply, feeling oddly defensive.

“He lied to us all; he lied to you,” Cullen continues, glaring. “How could he—” He gestures to me vaguely. “He _used_ us, he _pretended _to—”

“Commander,” Leliana snaps.

“No,” Cullen argues. “You’ve been faithful in honoring a ghost, and now we learn that he’s this—this ancient being who used you, who used the Inquisition so he could, what, catapult himself into—”

“Cullen, please,” I breathe, weakening against the table.

“And still you would defend him! You’re still in love with him, even after this. _How _can you still—”

“You don’t—understand,” I say tightly.

“Nor do we need to,” Leliana replies, her voice harsh as she glares at Cullen. “Her private life is not a matter for discussion.” A swell of gratitude rushes through me for her. “This must be shocking enough for her without adding to it your own opinions.” Leliana turns to me. “Inquisitor, thank you for telling us.”

I trace a spot on the map. “I…know I don’t need to say this, but, could you, please—”

“It stays with us,” Leliana promises.

“Y-yes,” Josie replies, shaken. “Of course. Inquisitor, I’m…sorry.”

I shake my head. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I’m not sure how this will go, and…in case it is relevant in some way…”

“I understand,” Leliana says. “I suppose this explains why my agents have found nothing of him.”

I nod. “I suspect so. I’m—going to rest for a while, and then leave in the morning,” I say.

“Our…our rooms have been taken care of,” Josephine replies. “I’ll show you to yours.”

“May I?” Cullen asks, his voice more controlled as he looks at me.

I glance up at him and nod, breathing out.

“Good night, Inquisitor,” Leliana murmurs.

I nod softly again and turn around, aware of Cullen behind me.

“Suledin,” he says as soon as the doors are closed, his voice several degrees softer. “Please forgive me for—”

“It’s alright,” I reply, shaking my head as I watch the ground. “I—understand.”

“I never meant to—”

“I know,” I interrupt again. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

He walks beside me, and I follow his lead. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” I reply.

“You don’t feel…betrayed?”

“No,” I murmur tiredly.

Cullen looks at me. “How…?”

“He…” My eyes flood, and my chest tightens. “I know him. I know you think my judgment is off, but…I _know _him. He didn’t want to hurt me; he didn’t mean to. He didn’t tell us for a reason. That has to be enough.”

“How can it be? How can it even come close? You deserve…” Cullen sighs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just—care about you…and you deserved better than…than lies and betrayal and—”

“He didn’t mean to hurt me,” I say again softly. “I know where you’re coming from, and I get it, and I'm sorry, Cullen, but…understand _me_ when I say that I’m not some…victim of his. He didn’t set out to hurt me; he didn’t do any of this on purpose. I don’t blindly afford him leeway or excuse his actions out of some misguided memory or, as you put it, devotion to a ghost. I still love him, yes, and I-I know I always will, but that doesn’t blind me. If anything, that gives me better insight into who he is. He's...he was gentle with me, and I know that he...that he loved me as much as I did him. This is…a…surprise, to…to put it lightly, but I understand why he didn’t tell me, and I know that he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Cullen watches the ground as we walk, and then he comes to a stop outside a lavishly decorated door. “I apologize for my comments, Inquisitor. In truth, I…” He sighs, shaking his head.

“I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Cullen.”

He glances at my door. “Good night, Suledin.”

“Good night.”

I enter the room, closing the door softly. I loosen my stiff fingers, wincing at the flicker of pain in my palm from the edges of the bone. I undress slowly and climb into an unfamiliar bed in a room that isn’t mine in a foreign country. The moonlight shines through the windows, and I gasp when my hand flares and aches. I stare at the green energy, and, now that I’m alone, I let my eyes flood and my breaths hitch. I find the wolf’s jawbone again, clutching it tightly even though it hurts, and then I roll over, pull my knees up, and let the wall I built crumble.


	62. Gods of Broken Promises

“Hey, look,” Bull says as we arrive at the Crossroads again. “Qunari—crossing that bridge.”

I follow his gesture to see several warriors run across a rocky slope. The bridge is narrow enough to force them into single-file, and I grimace at that concept. They don't seem bothered by the mysterious height beneath them. Instead, they trudge on almost carelessly, their movements assured and confident as they disappear through a glowing eluvian. “Let’s go,” I reply, picking up my speed to a sprint.

The light in the Crossroads still feels too bright, and I squint against it as we chase after the Qunari. I do my best not to think about the bridge, bounding across as carefully as I can. I slip through the mirror breathlessly and stop short when I reach the other side.

“Huh," Bull muses, looking at our surroundings.

“Are we in the—” Dorian frowns.

Varric sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose unhappily. “The blasted Deep Roads.”

Unlike my companions, who seem rather put out, I'm in awe of the place. We stepped out of the mirror onto a thick, wide stone path, the rock elaborately carved beneath our feet. What few torches are here are against the back walls, grandly presenting the raw space of this hallway, but most of the cavern is bathed in a dimness that bids me light a flame with my fingers. The light doesn't carry far, but it makes me feel better than being in semi-darkness. Looking up, I'll admit to feeling a tiny flicker of claustrophobia from expecting to see the sky above me, but I can't deny that this is incredible. Dwarven statues line the wide road. They're artfully turned to the walls, their tools out as if still widening and smoothing the cavern around us. I smile at that, scanning the intricate details on their clothes and belts in awe. How someone managed to carve _this _much detail from stone still boggles my mind. 

As I look closer, though, I see the deterioration this place has suffered. Though it isn't my culture, I feel a tug of regret at the state the road is in. Clearly, we are nowhere near either Orzammar or Kal-Sharok, judging from the lack of upkeep. A massive stone column lays on its side, its arms broken off. On one of them, I make out dwarven letters. It must be a road sign, indicating where we are. I wish I knew dwarven well enough to read them to get a better idea of our location. Wherever we are, it's clear that the place hadn't seen much activity in who knows how long. Parts of the road are destroyed, whole stones cracked and misshapen from time spent untreated. One of the statues near the walls lost an arm, the thick, wide limb blocking part of our path ahead. 

Obviously, this section of the Deep Roads is no longer unoccupied. Fresh supplies have been brought in, crates lining the walls with only a thin layer of red dust from the rock overhead. A tremor runs softly through the walls, unnoticed by the others as they talk behind me, and more dust is shaken loose from the ceiling, drifting down slowly to us like red snow.

If anyone else notices _that_, they don't let on. Varric irritably uses his glove to brush the dust from his shoulders, scowling at the walls. 

“Why would an _elven _mirror take us to the _dwarven _Deep Roads?” Dorian wonders.

“This is…amazing,” I smile. “The-the _stonework_!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric mumbles, “it’s all great until the ceiling caves in on you or the darkspawn eat you or a giant spider tries to mate with your corpse.”

“Colorful,” Dorian cringes.

“Welcome to the blasted Deep Roads, Sparkles.”

“Mm. Qunari!” Dorian suddenly adds, pointing ahead of us. Several warriors charge down the road, ruining my survey of the area, and I throw up a quick fire wall to block their path. Bull runs forward, jumping through and disappearing behind the flames, and I sigh. I would’ve lowered the wall for him if he’d given me a minute. His hammer suddenly swings over the flames, and I hear it crash down on something, muffled for a moment before it collides with the stone beneath him.

“That…sounded pleasant,” Dorian complains.

“Gonna trap us in a cave-in,” Varric grumbles.

“Are those actually that common?” I wonder, thrusting my right hand out to my side. The gold blade forms quickly, long and broad but light as a feather to me. 

“Common enough.”

“I never thought I’d see our dwarven friend so gloomy,” Dorian muses.

“I’ll be back to my quick wit when we don’t have tons of stone over our heads ready to crush us to death.”

“Fair enough.”

A Qunari runs at us, and I find myself smirking. The warrior narrows his eyes, a flicker of fear in his expression when he sees my spirit blade, though he doesn’t hesitate. He raises his war hammer, and Dorian cries out to me, alarmed at what seems to be an uneven match. I hold up my spirit blade and easily catch the Qunari’s hammer, whipping my arm out to cast his aside. I dodge his next lunge swiftly, dance to his left, and then duck under his fist, running my spirit blade through his stomach. He gasps, his fingers clutching at his ribs before he stills and collapses.

“Shit,” Varric says, his voice impressed while Dorian exclaims, “Brilliant!”

“Training’s paid off, boss,” Bull nods approvingly, wiping blood from his forehead.

“Thanks in large part to you and the Chargers,” I reply, letting the blade fade away again.

“That magical blade shit is…pretty cool,” he admits, almost begrudgingly.

“Thanks,” I chuckle. “Now…let’s go see what the Qunari were doing here, mm?”

“Sure, Snow. Let’s…also just try not to get stuck down here,” Varric mutters. “I have every intention of dying in my own bed with my crossbow in one hand and a mug of something Antivan in the other some forty years from now—_not _dying in the blasted Deep Roads some who-knows-how-many miles below the surface.”

“That was a mouthful,” Dorian returns quietly.

“We’ll be _fine_,” I assure him, moving through a doorway off the main road into a smaller chamber.

“Maker’s _balls_! You were _saying_, Snow?” Varric demands, thrusting a hand out impatiently.

I follow his gesture and stare at the massive cave-in. Two Qunari bodies were caught under boulders, legs and arms sticking out haphazardly while a pool of blood surrounds them wetly and disturbingly.

“We’ll just…” I clear my throat. “Go that way,” I offer, pointing to a stairwell on the opposite side of the room.

Varric groans quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

“Sorry,” I add quietly, walking briskly to the stairs. “I, uh…would’ve let you stay behind if I’d known we’d be in the—”

“It’s fine,” Varric sighs again. “It’s fine. I just…blasted Deep Roads. Swore I was never setting foot in this place again. They're cursed or something.”

"They are not _cursed_," I reply, trying to fight a smile. 

"Really?" he replies with a humorless snort. "The last time I was in the Deep Roads, let's see...My blasted brother betrayed me and got brainwashed by a red lyrium totem, which was, for the record, later found by the blasted knight-commander who went crazy; I broke my ribs from an ogre attack, Hawke nearly died, Sunshine caught the Blight and _did _die, a massive stone-demon-thing tried to kill us all, and we almost starved to death on the three-week trek out. That...sounds pretty cursed to me."

“Mm. Good point. We’ll make it fast.”

I take the stairs down quickly. They’re embedded in a tight hall, thick walls lining the sides until it suddenly breaks apart at the foot of the stairs, opening into a wide, broad cavern. I can’t even see properly where it ends. Torches lit across the whole cavern reveal a massive setup. Scattered under the stone ceiling high above, an enormous base has been established. Clinging to the stone walls and surrounding a stone island—whose edges threaten to topple a careless walker into a seemingly bottomless abyss—sits an array of machinery, forges, and scaffolding. Perhaps once a mining operation for the dwarves, the newly established wooden ladders and platforms reveal a new agenda. Dozens and dozens of Qunari can be seen even just from this poor vantage point. Some are sharpening their blades while others are leaning over massive pulleys, guiding them back to the platforms or urging them deeper into the abyss below.

In addition to the torches lighting the massive cavern, lyrium is threaded through the ceiling and walls, twisting and climbing. Its brilliant cobalt glow provides ample lighting on top of the torches, giving us a clear view to a very terrible situation.

“Look at it all,” I breathe. “The Qunari have a _huge _operation.”

“This ain’t good, boss,” Bull says quietly, his voice low and laced with something that sounds alarmingly like fear.

“Shit!” Varric suddenly exclaims, grabbing my hand and yanking me back.

An explosion rips through the far side of the cavern. The ground beneath us trembles, and I’m grateful for Varric’s hand or else I might risk falling. Small rocks hail down over us as the cavern shakes violently from the blast, and I glance down to see Varric’s eyes wide with fear.

“What are they doing?” I gasp, looking at Bull. “They’ll bring the whole cavern down!”

Bull catches my arm when I tilt to the side, and I recoil from the long, _long _drop below, reaching up to grip his arm to keep myself balanced after he releases me.

“This place isn’t stable,” I add worriedly.

“What did I fucking say? _Cursed_,” Varric mumbles, his voice tight. I blink in surprise. I don't think I've ever heard him use the word before.

“Sorry, Varric...We'll get out of here, but...we need to figure out what they're doing first. This way,” I say, moving into a cave-like room off the side of the stairs.

The room is so dark that I can’t see a thing. As if responding to the thought or the absence of light, my hand explodes, green energy lighting to room voluminously. I gasp and grunt, gritting my teeth when the pain blurs my vision.

“You alright, boss?” Bull asks quickly.

“Yeah,” I respond, my voice thin. “Maybe this thing can be useful down here,” I add, clenching my fist as I hold it up.

More equipment is scattered through this cave, old scaffolding and abandoned pulleys. Crates and boxes line the walls—they’re obviously recent, too.

“What are they excavating?” Varric wonders. “Why are they even down here? Anyone else feel like they’re dreaming a little bit?”

“This doesn’t make any sense to me,” Bull admits grimly. "The Qun doesn't care about Deep Roads. No reason they should be down here."

“Oh, great, deepstalker,” Varric grumbles, gesturing ahead unhappily. “Another reason to _love _the Deep Roads. Watch out, Snow.”

“Let’s just scare them off,” I say quickly, stopping Bull when he grips his hammer and starts to head towards them.

“That’s sweet, Snow,” Varric offers, “but you’ve clearly never come across deepstalker before.”

I frown at him. “We don’t have to kill _everything _we come across, you know.”

“No, but then _we’d _be the ones getting killed. I’m not kidding about them, Snow. They’re vicious.”

“They’re just animals.”

“_Snow_,” Varric laughs, his eyes softening even as his voice grows imploring. “You’re—very sweet, but they’re not just ‘animals.’ You don’t see me saying let’s go hunt some fennec foxes, right? I likeanimals as much as the next dwarf, but these things? They _will _kill us.”

“It’s their—Bull, wait!” I exclaim when the Qunari charges forward, raising his hammer.

“Sorry, boss. Varric's right.”

The deepstalker unfurl from their rolled-up positions, and I realize there were a great many more than I thought. They dangerously blended in with the rocks, and I can _understand _the fear, even if I don’t share it. The creatures screech loudly and try to lunge at Bull. I throw up a quick fire wall, choosing flames that I know are far too thick for Bull to charge through. He stops and glances back at me with a somewhat annoyed but amusedly unsurprised expression. The deepstalker screech again and run in the opposite direction when I slowly move the firewall towards them.

They race away from the fire, dodging into small cracks in the walls or loping off into deeper caves. When they’re gone, I take the wall down, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

“_Really_, boss?” Bull muses, resting his massive hammer on his shoulder.

I shrug and move past him carefully. “Now you can save all that brute strength for something more worthy, yes?”

He scoffs, smirking at me as I continue through the cave. My hand glows brightly enough to illuminate the cave walls, and I grit my teeth once more, careful not to make a sound. It feels akin to fire, like always, and my bone feels as if it’s severing, long cracks forming. I know that’s not truly happening, but it’s hard to put the idea out of my mind.

“There,” I say suddenly, looking through a hole blown into a wall. It opens up into the ceiling of another cave. It isn’t a terribly long drop, though it’s nothing to sneeze at, either. A campfire sits below, and I see a heap of supplies along with someone kindling the fire. “He’s human,” I murmur, frowning.

“Careful, boss,” Bull warns. "He's with them."

I nod and duck down, slipping through the hole. I slide off the edge and land hard, staggering forward a few steps. Bull lands solidly right beside me, his weapon raised pointedly. I have to admit, I rather like having Bull's massive frame beside me. It makes me feel pretty untouchable. Though I can take care of myself, it's so frigging nice having him as backup. 

The man takes one glance at us before jerking upright. He trips when he scrambles back, falling against the ground and crawling back through dust to reach his sword while the others follow us through.

“Stay back!” he warns, standing swiftly. He holds his sword up at us, the blade confident, though his eyes are afraid. He's clearly well-trained. “I—wait,” he gasps, blinking hard. “Y-your hand.” His eyes fall, taking in the way my fingers glow. I try to stop them from twitching by folding my hand into a fist again. “Are you the Inquisitor? _Here_?”

“I’m…just as surprised to see you in the Deep Roads,” I reply.

He glances behind himself through the cave opening and then turns back to me, stepping forward several paces as he drops his blade. “We don’t have much time!” he whispers imploringly. “Please—what the Viddasala is doing—you have to stop her!”

“Crap,” Bull mutters.

“The Viddasala?” I repeat, frowning. “That’s…” I blink, trying to remember. “Shit, wait, isn’t that the—”

“The leader of the Qunari here,” the man finishes. “She _hates _magic! Her job was to study it and stop it—at all costs.”

“No, I mean, isn’t she—” I glance at Bull, gesturing to him.

“She’s…one of the leaders of the Ben-Hassrath,” he replies unhappily. “This is serious, boss.”

“Not anymore,” the man snaps. “I don’t care if you serve Fen’Harel or not,” he adds. “Someone has to stop her.”

I blink. “Fen’Harel? How—do you know that name? Why do the Qunari think the Inquisition serves him?”

“I don’t know,” the man replies incredulously after a moment. “The Viddasala said it, and well…you’re _Dalish_. It made as much sense as anything. We’ve had agents of Fen’Harel causing trouble all over the Crossroads—sabotage, making spirits attack us…I _assumed _the Inquisition was their army, that you came here because Fen’Harel told you to.”

I swallow. “Who even are you? How did you end up working with the Qunari?”

“My name is Jerran. Ser Jerran, once. I was a templar in Kirkwall—until I joined the Qun.”

“_You’re _Qunari?”

“Kirkwall was…madness. Chaos. The Qunari were like the eye of the storm.”

Varric laughs loudly. “Yeah, the eye, the body, the cause—you do realize they _murdered _the Viscount and tried to overtake the city, right?”

“They offered safe harbor where there was only bedlam,” the man snaps defensively. “I stand for order and discipline, protecting the innocent from magic, but this plan…” Jerran shakes his head. “It’s as mad as Meredith ever was.”

“Least we’re agreed on that much,” Varric mumbles.

“What did you mean before when you said, ‘not anymore’?” I wonder. “The Viddasala’s not doing her job anymore?”

“Almost a complete reversal, actually,” Jerran replies. “This place is a lyrium mining and processing center. The Qunari need it for…have you ever heard of saarebas?”

“Yes,” I nod.

“No,” Cole replies, making me start.

“Cole,” I gasp. "Shit, I didn't even realize you were with us." 

“Sorry. I wasn't before. I was looking for you. What is a ‘saarebas’?”

“Our mages,” Bull answers. “Bound and chained…used as a weapon, like Dorian’s staff and the boss’ sword.”

Dorian huffs indignantly.

“Didn’t say I _agreed _with it,” Bull mumbles. “Despite how freaky magic is.”

Jerran looks between us. “Qunari mages are…much more dangerous than those among humans or elves,” he adds. “Even as a templar, I’d never seen anything like the power saarebas can unleash. And now Viddasala is giving them lyrium.”

I freeze as a stunned silence follows his words.

“_What_?” Bull demands, his voice a roar.

“A lot of lyrium,” Jerran continues. “It’s part of something she calls, ‘Dragon’s Breath.’”

“That’s _insane_!”

“There’s more to it than that,” Jerran sighs, “but I couldn’t find out what. The Qunari don’t like it when you ask too many questions.”

“Wait—I—” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Why would she give them lyrium? Doesn't she realize how _dangerous _that is?!" 

"You really think she told _me _that? I'm just part of the crew meant to dig it out." 

I frown, rubbing my forehead. "Why are there eluvians in the Deep Roads? Do you know?”

“Eluva—wha?”

“The elven mirrors.”

Jerran shrugs, recognition coloring his expression. “This place is close to…” He hesitates, fishing for the words. “…something like a lyrium spring. The more we mine, the more there seems to be.”

“That didn't answer her question,” Bull says.

“I don’t know!” Jerran admits. “Maybe—the elves were mining here, too? We certainly didn't bring that thing with us; it was already here. We've just been using it to get in and out.”

“What are _you _doing here?” I ask.

“The Qunari wanted me to teach them.”

“Teach them what?”

Jerran hesitates. “Don’t think you’re gonna like this, but…They wanted to know everything I knew about lyrium—where it comes from, everything it can do, how we put it to use—”

“And you _told _them?” Bull demands, outraged.

“Of course I did! I’m Qunari! She asked! What was I gonna do, say _no _to the _Viddasala_?!”

“This is insane!” Bull repeats.

Jerran continues. “I knew enough from my time in the Order. They figured out more…I’m not sure how. Maybe they got to the Carta.”

“This just keeps getting better,” Varric mutters, sighing as he looks away.

I shake my head, resting my hand on my hip. “The Qunari _can’t _be mining their own lyrium,” I say, looking at Jerran. “It kills anyone who tries—anyone other than dwarves.”

Jerran nods. “It killed the Qunari at first, too. But Qunari workers have a discipline only Tranquil can match. And they’re quick learners. They figured it out.”

“Insane,” Bull mutters again. “This is—this is _insane_!”

“It’s all for Dragon’s Breath,” Jerran says with a sigh.

“Dragon’s Breath?” I repeat. “Why is it called that?”

“You know that most dragons’ breath destroys everything in its path, right?” Jerran answers. “She says it would ‘save the South.’” He swallows, looking between me and Bull. “That can mean only one thing.”

“An invasion,” Bull finishes quietly, looking pale.

I feel the blood drain from my face, too. I swallow, my heart pounding erratically. “How long has this been going on?” I breathe.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Jerran says. “I—”

“Answer her,” Bull orders.

Jerran holds up his hands, shaking slightly. “I only meant I don’t _know_. I-I’m not given that sort of information. They-they only brought me in to help with the lyrium.”

“How long have _you_ been here then?” I ask.

“Going on a year and a half now."

Ice trickles down my spine.

“But,” Jerran adds, “this mine is the _only _source of lyrium the Qunari have. They’re using gaatlok—the explosive powder in the round cases—to mine, so they don’t have to touch the raw lyrium to—”

“_What_?” Varric exclaims. “_That’s _insane! The—they—” He releases a humorless laugh. “They’ll blow us all up! Or suffocate us in a cave-in!”

Jerran glances at him. “I-if you get the primers from central supply, you can prime the gaatlok and detonate it. The mines will go up in flames.”

“_Along with all of us_,” Varric exclaims. “Or—_crush _us to death!”

“We’ll figure something out,” I promise, glancing at him.

“Deepstalkers and cave-ins will cut off reinforcements,” Jerran says, “but they’ll still come when they hear trouble. You’ve got to find the Viddasala to end this war before it before it begins.”

“Wait—why are you telling us all this?”

“Because…” Jerran sighs. “Look, I just wanted a better life. But this…this is madness. The Viddasala’s plan is…madness.”

I look down, swallowing. “There’s no telling how bad this is gonna go. You’d better get out of here.”

“I will. Good luck, Inquisitor.”

He scrambles back, picking up his blade before disappearing through the mouth of the cave.

I watch him a moment before turning back to the others with a thin smile. “So…you guys wanna blow up a lyrium mine and probably die in the process?”

“You always know just how to sell it, boss,” Bull smirks.

***

I press my hand tightly around Varric’s arm. He winces and curses as blood seeps through my fingers. I mutter quietly and quickly under my breath, concentrating on the spell. The words move along my tongue as naturally as breathing, and I feel his skin stitch together beneath my hand.

“Thanks, Snow,” he gasps when I’m finished, relaxing his posture. “Not sure they have any Qunari _left _down here, so that’s good.”

“There’s always more Qunari,” Bull mutters seriously, his expression hard and grim.

“I thought you _wanted_ the Qun to take over everything,” Varric mumbles while I clean my fingers off. “Aren’t you Qunari?”

“There are a lot of people that wouldn’t do well under the Qun,” Bull answers. “You, Sera…Dorian,” he adds, looking wistfully at the Tevinter mage. They exchange a loaded look, Dorian’s expression softening as he reaches out to Bull's shoulder. “Maybe one day the Qun will invade,” Bull continues, dropping his eye. “I just hoped I’d never see it.”

“Wow,” Varric muses. “That was honest.”

I tuck the soiled handkerchief into my belt and stand up. “Dorian, are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he replies flatly.

“Are you two sure you’re not gonna blow us all up?” Varric wonders, his voice tight.

“Not really,” I shrug.

“Great. That’s—exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

“Dorian?”

“After you,” he insists.

I nod and turn my attention to two of the four wires we managed to trail down through the cave. We weren’t able to take them as far as I’d hoped, but they’re mostly out of harm's way. The wires twist around boulders and rocks, disappearing through the mouth of the cave. They run through the cavern, draping across the detonators. Getting the primers was no easy feat and sneaking them into the middle of their base of operations was even trickier. It took us hours; Cole did most of the work, walking among the Qunari unseen. It won’t be pretty, and it’ll be loud as fuck, but hopefully the explosion will take those pulleys down—and not the rest of us with it.

I breathe out once and then conjure twin flames. Dorian lights his beside me, and we both toss our flames to the wires. As soon as they’re lit, I back up to Bull, Varric, and Cole. I throw up a barrier around us, a small bubble that has us all enclosed. Dorian comes close to my side, squeezing against us all to reinforce the barrier, doubling the layer.

“Hate this shit,” Bull complains, his breath tickling my neck.

“Me too,” Varric sighs. “Believe me. Snow, you’re on my foot.”

“Kind’a busy here,” I reply, my forehead tight as I focus carefully. I do shift my leg, though, moving my heel off his toes. 

“Right. Sorry.”

My heart hammers erratically while we wait. My eyes flash open as time passes, and I glance at Dorian worriedly. Before I can question our craftsmanship, four explosions rip across the cavern, deafening me. The entire ground shakes, and rocks hail down on top of the barrier, sliding off the sides to clatter against the stone. Pieces of the bridge across from us break off, lyrium crashing into the abyss as it falls from the ceiling. Screams and shouts sound off through the cavern, and I try very hard to remember what the Qunari were planning here. A group of deepstalker comes barreling around the corner, diving into our cave as they scurry from the blasts. Several run into our barrier, skittering around it swiftly with barely a glance in our direction. Part of the cave ceiling collapses behind us, and I hold my breath, hoping that nothing closes the mouth of the cave. Smoke rushes in after the deepstalker, fanning out across the barrier.

“Shit,” Varric says, pointing up. I follow his gesture to see the cavern walls have burst in several places. Massive holes shepherd in gallons of water, the bridges and stone walkways swiftly getting flushed out. “We better get out of here before this place fills up with water. Remember the way, Snow?”

“Yep.” Pretty sure.

I wait another few seconds for the ground to stop shaking, and then Dorian and I drop the shield. We all take off. Cole disappears and moves ahead, clearing the path of Qunari who choose to fight us rather than escape the waters. Bull runs past me and helps, knocking Qunari off the bridges we cross or slamming them so hard into the ground that they don’t rise again.

Water rushes down the stone steps, soaking my leggings and feet. I slip, sliding down several steps before Dorian catches me and pulls me close to him. Water cascades from the ceiling, new fractures cracking through the stone, and I fear how much water might be pressing down above us. We race ahead as fast as we can, ducking and dodging boulders and enemies on our way.

“So,” I call as we near the main road we arrived at, “who gets to tell Cullen and Josephine that we’re probably at war with the Qunari? Anyone? Please?” I sigh. “They’re going to kill me.”

***

I pace back and forth in front of the table, playing with the cuff of my sleeve while Cullen leans over the map. Josephine stands beside him anxiously, but Leliana is as impossible to read as ever, her expression stony as she watches the scouts leave the room.

“Dragon’s Breath,” she murmurs when the doors are sealed. “The Qunari always enjoyed their metaphors.”

“But what does it mean?” Josephine wonders.

“Who knows?” Cullen replies. “Qunari agents moving through eluvians to attack the south is bad enough already.”

“It is troublesome that they’ve accused the Inquisition of serving Fen’Harel,” Leliana says thoughtfully.

I look down, fear clutching my heart—an irrational, stupid fear. “Do you think they know?” I wonder, trying to sound indifferent.

“That Solas is Fen’Harel?” Leliana asks, gazing at my evenly. “I don’t know. Probably not, since they’ve yet to refer to him as anything other than his elven name.”

“But why else would they decide that the Inquisition serves this _Fen’Harel_?” Josephine wonders.

I study the map beneath Cullen’s fingers, feeling Leliana’s eyes on me. “Hopefully we will learn more after we have stopped them,” she says.

Cullen sighs, standing upright. “Let’s see the Exalted Council try to disband the Inquisition after we’ve saved them from this _Dragon’s Breath_.”

Leliana offers him a sidelong glance. “We must find out what Dragon’s Breath _is _first. For now, our only lead is the Qunari leader, the Viddasala.”

The doors burst open behind me, startling me greatly. I jerk forward and flinch, my heart seizing even as I recognize it as a door and not a gaatlok explosion. I press my hands to the map, sighing out as I feel more than one pair of eyes on me, likely surprised by my edginess.

“Gentlemen!” Josephine exclaims.

I glance back to find Arl Teagan and Duke Montford walk in—well, _one _of them walks. The other strides in angrily, a fowl glare on his face.

“My apologies, Lady Josephine,” the duke says quickly, his voice deceivingly relaxed. “There has been an incident with one of your soldiers.”

“How _dare _you?” Arl Teagan spits before anyone can inquire further. I frown at his hostility. “It was bad enough that the Inquisition chose not to inform the Exalted Council of the Qunari corpse—”

“Orlais would have been _happy _to help with this matter,” the duke agrees softly.

Teagan turns his glare on me, and I resist the urge to make a sarcastic face. “But now your own guards are attacking servants?” he demands. “You have overstepped your bounds!”

“You can’t be serious?” I scoff, bewildered into impatience. “My plan to seize power in Ferelden would hardly start with soldiers scuffling with servants in Orlais, Arl Teagan.”

Josephine diplomatically steps between us. “While the Exalted Council is our foremost priority, the Inquisitor will, of course, address this matter personally.” She turns to glare at me pointedly, and I sigh, leaning against the table.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” the duke says with a graceful bow. “Orlais stands ready to assist the Inquisition, as always.”

Teagan continues to glare at me, and I match his gaze, refusing to back down. “Secrets and lies,” he seethes. “Do you understand why we fear your Inquisition?” Anger flits through me like a whip, and I curl my left hand into a fist. “You act as if you’re the solution to every problem. How long before you drag us into another war?”

My eyes widen in rage, and I curl my fist tighter at the onslaught of pain in my fingers and outrage in my chest. “How _dare _y—”

“That’s far enough, Arl,” Josie says quickly, her tone carrying more of a warning than I’ve ever heard before. Gone is the sweet edge of her voice, replaced by an undeniably authoritative tone. “Please, come with me back to the courtyard. The Inquisitor will see to the matter of the guards. The rest can be said within the halls of the summit in the presence of the Divine.”

“Your Worship,” the duke says with another low bow as they depart.

I breathe out heavily, closing my eyes as I sag against the table again.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Leliana asks.

I shake my head, staring at the marble floor for a moment as my hand throbs. “Just tired,” I mumble, feeling Cullen and Leliana’s eyes on me. “I’ll—deal with this matter. Leliana, could you look into—”

“I’m already on it,” she assures me.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else, Inquisitor?” Cullen asks softly.

“No,” I sigh. “Maybe some alcohol.” I glance back at them as I push off the table, forcing a smirk. “That was a joke.”

Cullen offers a quiet smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll see you later,” I offer, waving once before I depart.

I close the door quietly and lean against it, wincing and gasping now that I’m alone. Pain drags up my hand, my fingers flashing brilliantly for a moment. I bounce my leg, holding my breath as I wait it out. As quickly as it started, it fades away, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. The pain doesn’t disappear entirely, but it does fade enough into the background that it can be mostly ignored. It’s nothing compared to tumult brewing in my chest, lashes of anger and fear and heartache swirling, threatening to erupt abrasively at the next mouthy comment from the arl—or anyone else, I suppose. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

I sigh again at the thought. I don’t have a choice. There _is _no one else.

“Your Worship?” someone murmurs quietly.

I glance up to see a scout waiting, and I push up off the door swiftly.

“I’ll take you to the courtyard,” she offers.

“Thank you.”

I follow her down the long hallway. Once, my eyes might have drifted across the gold gilding or the elaborate paintings, but today I simply watch the floor. I keep my head up, but my eyes focus on the marble beneath the scout’s feet, memorizing the crisscrossing pattern with absolutely no interest. 

The scout leads me to the courtyard and down a side road. I hear the cacophony far before we arrive. A crowd has gathered around a line of Inquisition soldiers. They hold the others back, keeping a loose circle around whatever has happened. They part for me, and I slip through. Two Inquisition agents stand in the center, and a servant is on the ground, glaring angrily at the stone beneath his knees as he sits cuffed. Two massive, circular barrels surround him, the sun glinting off them blindingly. I glance at the agents again and realize I recognize the woman—the same elven woman who came for me during the Exalted Council yesterday.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, coming to a stop before the agents.

The man looks up at me. “The Orlesians tried to take one of our people, Inquisitor. We’ve secured the area.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“I’m Captain Blain, Your Worship,” the man continues. “This is Agent Clara.”

I nod formally, but I’m interrupted before I can reply.

“This is the Winter Palace!” an Orlesian guardsman suddenly shouts, approaching us swiftly with a retinue of his own men at his back. “You cannot simply seize control when one of _your _guards attacks a servant!”

“The Inquisition is handling this,” Captain Blain replies flatly. “When some noble commits a crime of fashion, you can take over.”

“I only asked what he was doin’,” Agent Clara says as the servant lifts himself—with difficulty—to his feet.

“And when I refused to bow to the Inquisition’s dogs, you attacked me!” the servant spits.

“How would you like us to handle the situation, Inquisitor?” Blain asks with a sigh, his hands folded casually behind his back.

I glance at the barrels again, frowning. Realization sweeps through me in a jerky motion, dread and alarm filling my chest. “Where did that come from?” I demand, my voice cold as I point to the barrels.

“Servant was carrying them,” Blain replies.

“I was ordered to bring wine for the guests!” the servant snaps defensively.

“You’re lyin’,” Agent Clara replies calmly, giving the servant a curt look.

“Your Inquisition soldiers are completely out of control!” the Orlesian guard shouts.

“No,” Blain snaps, “we’re _in _control. Keep talking, and you’ll find yourself in chains.”

“That’s quite enough,” I say loudly, raising my hands before the guardsman can reply. “Captain, please take the servant into custody.”

“Yes, Your Worship. C’mon,” he says, taking the man’s arm. I’m relieved when he does it gently, leading the servant away from the drama professionally but not cruelly.

“Inquisitor?” the guardsman gapes.

“Ambassador Montilyet will explain later. For now, please hold the servant for questioning.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” the man replies bitterly. “Lord Cyril will hear about this.”

I sigh as he turns around and leaves, his men glancing back at me. Their masks block their expressions, but there’s no denying the tension this scene has caused.

“Inquisitor?” the agent says, moving closer to me. “I also found this by one of the barrels. I can’t read the language.”

“Thank you, Agent Clara,” I reply, taking the letter. “Please find more soldiers and _carefully _remove the barrels. I believe they’re filled with gaatlok.”

Agent Clara doesn’t even blink. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

I frown. “You’re—not surprised by that?”

“Leliana informed me of the situation,” she replies.

I must say she’s a skilled liar; the small glint in her eye is almost impossible to see, but it’s there. I watch her a moment, and she holds my gaze unwaveringly. “Alright, well—please handle this quickly and carefully,” I murmur.

“Of course, Your Worship.”

I glance down at the letter, recognizing the letters of Qunlat but still unable to read it. I sigh and turn around, ready to find Bull, but I see Leliana instead. She appears in a doorway, smiling warmly at me as she waves me over.

I frown and walk to her, less skilled at the game she's playing—or, rather, _the _Game.

“Did you resolve the problem with the guard?” she asks sweetly, her eyes shining as if we were discussing her favorite shoes.

“The guard is the least of our problems,” I mutter. “Someone smuggled gaatlok barrels into the Winter Palace.”

Leliana chuckles and reaches forward to playfully brush my arm. “_Smile_, Inquisitor. There are many eyes upon us.”

“Oh, uh, right,” I grin. “This is weird. This feels weird. I don’t like it.”

“The barrels or the—”

“The smile.”

She gives another laugh, this one sounding more genuine. “At least now we know the true extent of the Dragon’s Breath.”

“The barrels?” I repeat, fighting to keep the grin up. I settle for a pleasant smile, but it still takes a great deal of energy to maintain—energy I simply don’t have anymore.

“Of course,” Leliana nods, her smile so natural and easy that I’m jealous. “A surprise attack, even through the eluvians, would have met fierce resistance. But if everyone at the Exalted Council died in an explosion, the South would be rudderless, vulnerable to attack.”

I blink. “Well,” I smile with difficulty, “that is incredibly disturbing.”

Her eyes grow calculating behind her smile. “This is what Corypheus _should _have done after the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

My smile falls, and I struggle to replace it. “I’m…very glad you’re on our side, have I mentioned?”

“An attack as swift and unstoppable as the breath of a dragon,” she muses softly.

“I really want to stop smiling now.”

“I’m impressed you’ve kept it up this long. It took me years of training as a Bard to master the technique.”

“I think it froze.”

She chuckles again.

“The agent who confronted the servant—Clara?”

Leliana nods.

“She found this note near one of the barrels. It looks like Qunlat. I’ll get Bull to—”

“Let me see it,” she says. I give her an impressed expression and offer it. “I picked some up from the Iron Bull, though I’m told my accent is atrocious.” Her eyes tighten as they scan the document carefully. “These are orders for positioning the gaatlok in the palace,” she muses with a smile even as her eyes tighten again. She translates the rest slowly. “‘When duty has been performed…report to the Viddasala through the mirror marked by the bookcase.”

“An invitation,” I muse, perking up. “How thoughtful.”

Leliana smirks, and I honestly can’t tell anymore if it’s genuine or an act. She’s good. “While you do that, I will have my agents locate the other gaatlok barrels and remove them safely. I will also send word to my foreign contacts. We must see where else this dragon could strike. And, Inquisitor—” She meets my eye, her expression growing serious past her smile. Her eyes hold mine with a degree of fear or trepidation I’m not used to seeing in her. “Be careful.”


	63. Rendered to Dust

“Alright, it’s been a long day, and I’m pretty tired,” Varric muses, “but is that bridge _forming _in _front _of us?”

I glance down at him and then follow his gesture, my gaze moving across the Crossroads. I make a face when I see several Qunari running seemingly in thin air. Under their feet, with each step they take, a bridge solidifies in midair, stone appearing by magic as they jog. They’re not exactly close, but they glance over and see us standing here at the eluvian to the Winter Palace, and then they move faster, disappearing through a ruin, presumably into another eluvian.

“Well that’s new,” I mumble tiredly.

“Let’s not rush off all at once,” Dorian smirks. “Wouldn’t want to catch up _too _quickly. We should give them a head start.”

I laugh weakly at his sarcasm, nodding as I move into a jog. I follow the path around the Crossroads, passing by an eluvian we walked through earlier—today or yesterday, I can’t recall. Our time here is beginning to blur for me. I'd already be exhausted just from the Deep Roads earlier, but the Anchor is zapping me of energy and mana faster than usual. Each step is becoming a great effort, and my mind envisions my bed more than once, fantasizing about slipping under the covers and just sleeping for the rest of the year. I’m sensing this won’t go any easier than it normally does. I hesitate when I reach the bridge, but it looks solid—despite the fact that it’s created by magic and held up by nothing. I shrug and cross it swiftly, grateful that the fall doesn’t appear to be too high off the rocky island below—should we fall, that is.

“Here,” I call when we reach the other side, pointing. “An eluvian marked by a bookshelf. This should be it.”

“That’s where the Qunari were going, too,” Bull nods.

“Hey, kid, you alright?” Varric suddenly asks. I glance back at Cole. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Yes.”

“Just yes?”

“Yes.

“Alright, kid.”

I give Cole a concerned look before I pass through the mirror. My jaw drops over when we appear on the other side, and I stop to take it in. We stand inside a massive, albeit shattered, library. Bookshelves climb up higher than I can easily see, hugging the ruins with some form of broken magic. Hundreds—no, thousands of books line them, each spine larger than the last until the books are so thick that I can’t imagine even being able to lift them. Thinner books and papers are scattered across the floor. I lean down to pick up one, flipping through it in awe.

“This is incredible,” I breathe. “It—looks like an old elven library.” I squint at the words in the book, able to discern only a few words. Most of ancient elven is still a mystery to me, despite how hard I've tried to learn. I even swallowed my pride and asked Morrigan to help me, but she had to leave—to take her son to safety, she said; she never came back. 

Dorian makes a face. “It definitely saw a massive magical backlash some time ago.”

“What did this?” I wonder, setting the book reverently on a nearby table.

“Let’s hope we don’t find out.”

I shake my head, marveling.

“Boss, not to rush you, but—”

“Right, sorry,” I breathe, walking forward.

“I don’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right. Time pressure. Gaatlok bombs. Qunari invasion.”

I reach the end of the massive broken hall, but then I stop again and cock my head at the sky, frowning.

“It’s upside down!” Cole exclaims with an astonished laugh.

“That’s…uncomfortable,” Bull complains.

I turn my head, seeing several Qunari running upside on the platform as it hovers above us. It looks similar to the library hall we’re in, only it is tipped on its end, confusing and disorienting me. Suddenly, I wonder if _we’re _the ones upside down, and I peek over the edge of the hall, but I have no way of gauging where we are. A substance that, for lack of a better understanding, appears to be _clouds _surrounds us, though I’m certain we’re in another part of the Crossroads—we must be, for the laws of gravity to be so…odd.

“How are they not falling?” Cole murmurs, his voice still awed.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to join them,” Varric mumbles.

“It would be fun!”

“No, kid, it would be…dizzying.”

Bull glances at me hesitantly. “Boss—”

“Sorry, sorry, yes, I’m going,” I murmur, smiling at him as I turn and take the stairs down quickly. We don’t make it very far before we happen upon a spirit. Orange energy hovers in the air, a faceless, bodiless creature waiting.

“Andaran atish’an,” the spirit murmurs, a flicker of orange light dancing across its form happily. “Mirthadra elvhen.”

“Ma serannas,” I reply, bowing my head respectfully. “Ar—”

“What are you saying?” Varric whispers.

“If you wish, honored elvhen, I will speak so your guests understand,” the spirit says, the voice sounding warm and female.

“Hello,” Cole grins.

“Compassion,” the spirit greets warmly. “I am honored.”

“Who are you?” I wonder softly.

“I am study,” the spirit replies. “I am learning thirst. Come, know what has not been lost. New words. New stories. The Qunari would not approach, but we learned their words as well. If you wish to exchange knowledge, they congregate by the lower gate.”

“What is this place?” I ask.

“This is the Vir Dirthara, the living knowledge of the empire,” the spirit replies. “The libraries of every city, the wisdom of every court.” I feel my eyes shine.

“That’s…incredible,” I breathe.

“This is a connecting place whose paths are in disarray,” the spirit concludes sadly.

“What happened here?” I ask quietly, unsure I want the answer.

“The Vir Dirthara was made with world and Fade. When they sundered, so did we. Paths broke. Knowledge fragmented. Many were trapped. I preserve their last words.”

I freeze, horror filling me. “Wh-what do you mean? What last words?”

The spirit glows a more brilliant orange, and its voice changes, fear heightening its otherwise even tone. “_What happened? Where are the paths? Where are the paths? Gods save me. The floor is gone. Do not let me fall. Do not let me_—” The spirit simmers, its color dimming. “On this spot, that is all.”

I realize I’ve raised my hand to my mouth, and I drop it, feeling sick as my heart hammers. I stare at the ground beneath the spirit’s form. “That’s…horrible,” I manage.

“Thanks,” Bull grumbles. “Really paints a picture.”

“I—” I clear my throat. I recoil slightly when I see an ancient skull half-buried under a pile of books and papers. “I-I’m looking for a Q-Qunari called Viddasala. Do you know where she is? Do you know what she wants here?”

“Viddasala,” the spirit replies, its color flaring a little. “Yes. She uses scholars and mages for study. They fear this place, but they seek to know the Veil.”

I frown. “Why does she want to know about the Veil?”

“I regret that I do not have more information,” the spirit says quietly, its color dimming once more. “I am sundered from myself. If you discover another one of me nearer the Qunari, I may know more. Kindly give it my greetings. I have not thought with myself for some time.”

I stare at the spirit for a moment before my eyes drift to the world around us. “I…could learn so much about my people. What were they like? How long is our history?”

“I will try to recall, honored patron, but there are gaps…breaks…” The spirit flares, its color shining luminously again. “Greetings. Laughter. Emma enasal. Forms out of air. Light. Memories.” The spirit suddenly flares, its form becoming stretched, pulsing lightly as its voice grows distressed. “Aneth ara! So many—broken paths at every—missing—missing—_missing_!”

“Stop!” Cole begs. “Please, stop! You don’t need to hurt yourself!”

The spirit dims, its body gaining form again. “Yes, I…wisdom from compassion. Yes. I will stop.”

“Ir abelas,” I say quickly, my heart hammering. “I did not mean to cause you discomfort.”

“Apologies, honored elvhen. I knew all once. We knew. With the break, only fragments or knowledge new, since the fall.”

“Ir abelas,” I repeat. “We’ll leave you in peace.”

“Know this: an unknown person, not of the Qunari, recently woke the Librarians.”

“An unknown person?” I repeat. “Could…is it possible this person is an agent of…of Fen’Harel?”

“The Librarians facilitated learning before the fracture,” the spirit simply says. “Before the fall. Now, beware them. They are unwell.”

“Ma serannas,” I murmur.

“Dareth shiral.”

I round the spirit carefully, moving slowly up the flight of stairs opposite us. I pick up my speed when we reach the top, glancing around at the massive bookshelves. Part of me wants to linger; I feel a longing deep inside me, and I regret that it was a quest and not exploration that brought us here. I wish I could see the whole thing—perhaps understand what happened, gain some new lost knowledge of my people.

“There,” Bull says, pointing across a stony bridge. "Qunari on that…upside down island thing.”

“Great,” Varric sighs. “Maybe they’ll fall off and save us all the trouble.”

“Have we ever been that lucky?” Dorian muses.

“Fair point.”

“What’s that?” Bull asks, gesturing to a glowing pedestal near the bridge.

I stare at it a moment and then shrug, pressing my hand to it. I wince, but nothing happens.

“Maybe the Anchor?” Dorian suggests.

I sigh quietly and switch hands, clenching my jaw. I hold my breath and press my fingers to the orb, expecting a sharp pain. Instead, my fingers hum with a healthy rush of magic. It feels so pure in its form that it steals the pain from my hand for a small, blissful moment. The orange rock flares brilliantly, fiery light bursting from it. Stones shift loudly before me, and I step back, surprised, though I don’t move my fingers. The stone slabs pick themselves up off the ground and rise high into the air, pulled as if by some sort of magic to the platform high above us before controllably falling to the broken bridge before us. It patches some of the spots, but not all, and I realize we’ll need to find more. I take my hand off the orange stone, flexing my fingers as the familiar rush of pain returns.

“Well, that helped a little,” I muse, crossing the newly repaired bridge to a small island. “Let’s look around for more. The…inverted eluvian must lead to the Qunari. We’ll go down this way,” I add, gesturing to the side. “Hopefully find more ways to repair the bridge.”

“Guess we have to go down and left to go up…side down,” Dorian smirks.

“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?” Bull mumbles, his tone affectionate with the mage.

“I did pocket it, yes,” Dorian nods.

“Look at this place,” I whisper, looking around.

It’s beautiful, even in its ruined state. It represents a piece of my past that, until recently, I had thought lost to me forever. Parts of it float in the sky, held up by the same flawed gravity that affects the Fade. Other parts of the ruins have crashed and fallen into others, stone walls broken and merged in new, unnatural ways. Bridges that once connected separate rooms or buildings have long been destroyed. Rubble and fallen stones are strewn across what few pathways remain, their original purpose marred. Statues lay fallen against massive walls, either bursting through them or balancing perilously and unbelievably against the ruins, affected by that same unexpected gravity.

“What happened here?” I breathe, more to myself than anyone else.

“Here’s another eluvian,” Varric says softly. “Maybe we can learn more.”

I nod and cross through it, blinking when I find myself in a circular room. It looks almost like a courtyard, but it’s still inside the library—perhaps an atrium? Enormous bookshelves line the walls, like the last place, though most of the books lay scattered on the ground in heaps. In the middle of the atrium, a massive golden statue of a tree is erected. The bowed branches hug a ball of green energy, same as before. I step closer to it, curious about how it works.

My hand suddenly flares, and I cry out. Gripping my hand, I jerk back in agony, recoiling into a shelf. Books fall solidly to the ground in response, dust making me cough as I gasp. 

“Sul! Are you alright?” Dorian says quickly.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“It’s flaring up near magic,” he muses, looking at me worriedly. “_Elven _magic.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “Tell us if it gets worse.”

I nod, gritting my teeth. “Two eluvians,” I murmur, gesturing to a pair on opposite sides of the atrium. “Which one?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Varric replies.

I sigh. “Right it is then,” I decide, gesturing to the mirror.

“If we get crushed or fall off an edge, I’m blaming you, boss,” Bull says with a smirk.

“Fair enough,” I hum, rubbing my wrist lightly before I drop my hand.

I stick close to the bookshelves as we walk, giving the statue in the center a wide berth. We pass through the eluvian quickly and arrive at a new tower in the Vir Dirthara. I climb up a broken stairwell, flanked by the others as we pick our way carefully.

“Watch your step,” I add, as if they aren’t.

“This place is completely destroyed,” Dorian whispers. “It’s so…sad.”

“It is,” I agree quietly, giving the ruins a solemn look.

When we reach the top, I hesitate, surprised by the number of bodies littering the ground. I frown, studying the dead without getting too close.

“There’s not a mark on them,” I note softly.

Bull grimaces, leaning over one of the bodies. “Back hunched, eyes wide open…They were scared shitless when they died.”

I look around for evidence of what could have happened to them, but I see nothing. Not scorch marks, no arrows, no weapons, other than the ones they brought themselves.

“Another spirit,” Cole says, pointing.

I follow his gesture, spotting the orange flicker hovering near the balcony. I approach it carefully, choosing my path slowly and respectfully.

“Welcome,” the spirit calls, the voice the same as before. “Welcome. Listen to the words of those who lived past the fall.” I don’t even have a second to brace myself before the spirit is rattling the words off, its lack of inflection at odds with the horrifying messages it delivers. “_How could the Dread Wolf cast a Veil between the world that wakes and the world that dreams_?” I recoil in shock as if slapped. “_The Evanuris will send people. They will save us! When have you last heard from the gods? When the Veil came down, they went silent! What is this Veil? What has Fen’Harel done_?”

I stare in horror at the spirit, stepping back once. I move my hand to the jawbone necklace, clutching it tightly. I shake my head, feeling the others’ eyes on me. “Are…” I can’t catch my breath, and my eyes flood in confused horror. “Are you saying…Fen’Harel _created _the Veil?”

“They’re saying some guy just _made _the Veil?” Bull demands before sighing. “We must’a been ass-deep in demons before then.”

“Bull,” Dorian snaps, his voice reprimanding.

I ignore them. “Archivist, is that what you’re saying?” I hear the desperate ring to my voice, but I can’t control it.

“I only know what the last people said after the fall,” the spirit replies. “I am apart from myself.”

“I don’t understand,” I admit, feeling the confusion twist in my chest, tightening it. 

“If you can find another one of me, I may know more.”

“This doesn’t—this doesn’t make any sense.” I look back desperately to the others, and I’m shamed when I’m met with their sympathetic looks. I look down and turn away, clutching the jawbone so tightly that it bites into my skin. “L-let’s keep going.”

“There’s…another of those orb things,” Varric says quietly, almost hesitantly.

I locate it without glancing back at the others and press my left hand to it. More stone steps rise from the platform and head in the direction of the bridge we were on before.

“Getting closer,” Dorian says softly. “I think.”

“Let’s…head back to the courtyard,” I mutter.

“You alright, Snow?”

“She is very sad,” Cole answers quietly.

“Cole,” I say unevenly.

“Sorry…”

I lead the way back to the atrium, the others silent behind me. I try to order my thoughts, confusion swelling in me with a wave of unexplainable grief, and I keep my hand tight on the bone, wishing I could just talk to him, wishing I could have found him in my dreams, as I tried so many times.

I pass through the eluvian, finding everything exactly the same in the courtyard. I’m not sure why I expected something to be different; perhaps simply because I _feel _a little different.

I round the bookshelves, trying to stay away from the center statue, but a crumbled pile of books forces me to edge closer than I’d like. My hand connects with the statue, jerking me to my knees.

“Shit!” I gasp, pulling myself back up quickly.

“Snow, we need to look at your hand,” Varric says, trying to come around to me.

“It’s fine,” I reply, moving across the atrium quickly. “Just—caught me by surprise.”

“It’s getting worse,” he replies, a nervous edge to his voice.

“It’s fine,” I lie again. I gesture to the third eluvian and then pass through it quickly, clenching my hand tightly. We arrive at another tower in some other part of the library. A large golden statue greets us, though its branches are empty of any energy. Stone figures surround it, each holding a brazier. Some sort of veilfire ritual or puzzle, I imagine—though I’m not sure what purpose it might have served. It could merely be decorative, for all I know. 

“Look,” Cole murmurs.

I follow his gaze, sighing. “More dead Qunari with terrified expressions.”

“Anyone else super creeped out right now?” Bull wonders.

“Oh yeah,” Varric nods.

“Definitely,” Dorian agrees.

“Good,” Bull sighs. “Glad it’s not just me.”

I round the body and move up another fractured staircase, slipping once as I try to avoid a gaping hole in the center. At the top, another Archivist waits. Part of me tightens, fear gripping me, and I'm not sure how much more I can hear. Still, I have to know. 

“Welcome,” the spirit greets, “and listen to the last words of those who walked this place.”

“Great,” Bull sighs.

“_If we get out of here, I will end Fen’Harel. After he held back the sky to imprison the gods, the Dread Wolf disappeared. Lies! We must tear down the Veil! The cities, the pathways…without magic, they’re crumbling! You’re wasting your time. Fen’Harel’s Veil has turned our empire to ruins_.”

The spirit’s words echo through the small tower, and I close my eyes as they flood. Tears roll down my cheeks evenly as my chest tightens, and I want to curl up on the ground and fold in on myself with the weight, with the very implication of what happened here.

_He has a very old pain_.

Cole’s words come back to me unbidden, and I release a quiet, strangled breath, my chest aching.

A very old pain that made a spirit of compassion force himself to forget it.

“So…the elven empire collapsed because the Veil was created?” Dorian whispers. “If they relied on magic, it would have been a disaster beyond measure.”

_Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing air. That is what was lost._

I walk forward a step, clutching the wolf’s jawbone tightly once more. My vision is so blurry I can’t see anything, grief gripping me unforgivingly.

Cole follows me. “It was a very old pain,” he murmurs again.

“Cole,” I gasp, my voice broken as I try to figure out what to ask. “Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Cole sighs, looking down. “I have tried to find him. I feel him close, but…I don’t know where.”

I nod, feeling each individual beat of my heart ache in my chest. I walk weakly to the next eluvian, tears blinding me to my footing.

My history, my people—

The love of my life—

The weight he carried, the pain he endured—the sorrow in his eyes when he spoke—he couldn’t have done this on purpose. What _happened_?

“Snow, d-do you want to take a minute?” Varric asks hesitantly. “We don’t have to—”

“I’m okay,” I reply, the hoarseness of my voice betraying me. “Let’s keep going. We…we have to keep going.”

“We can take just a minute to—”

“I’m okay.”

Varric falls silent. They all do. I close my eyes, struggling to get a handle on my emotions. My throat feels raw and thick, my chest aching. I just want to fall to my knees and cry, but I swallow it all back down, forcing my breath to remain steady, even as it hitches with every inhale.

We pass through to another tower, this one revealing a long, ruined hall. I move along it quickly, wiping my eyes with my fingers swiftly. I gasp for air, hearing the others follow me silently. Another broken stairwell leads us down into a ravaged room. A fresco lines the walls, so similar to the ones Solas painted in his study. The sight of it makes me want to weep. It makes me feel weak and small, and I wrap an arm around my chest, begging and pleading with myself to stop. I bite my lip, frowning against the surge of emotion, breathing raggedly through my lips as I fight for control.

I find another orb near the fresco and press my shaking fingers to it, feeling the soft pull of magic. Stones rise up, reaching the path high above us and completing the bridge.

“That should be enough stairs,” Dorian murmurs. “Good work.”

I nod and turn around, avoiding them as best I can. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, struggling to breathe as I backtrack.

We move back through the series of eluvians to reach the atrium. By the time we arrive, I’ve regained some modicum of control. But as we step into the courtyard, I also realize we’re no longer alone.

“Uh—uh—uh—what is _that_?” Bull demands, flailing for a moment. “What the _fuck _is _that_?”

I widen my eyes at the horrors before us. They’re tall—abnormally, eerily tall. Long black cloaks, dark as night, cling to their too-thin frames, draped over their too-small heads. The cloaks are pulled tight over their faces, revealing nothing but a gaping, wide maw, dozens of teeth lining the gums. Their backs are hunched over, their arms appearing frail and weak as they lift out from under the cloak. Their bony, dark wrists end in hands with long claw-like nails. They hover over the ground, their thin, slender, too-long feet dangling away from their bodies unnaturally.

“I—guess those are the Librarians?” I muse.

“Hello!” Cole calls, a smile in his voice.

“Guess we know why the Qunari pissed themselves to death,” Varric mutters.

“This is…I hate magic,” Bull frowns. “Sorry, boss, but I fucking hate magic.”

“I, uh…” I blink. “No, I get it,” I reply, staring at the monstrous beings before us. “This is…wow.”

“Run to the eluvian as fast as we can?” Varric checks.

“Yep,” I nod.

“Definitely,” Dorian agrees.

“Great plan,” Bull replies.

“Okay, on the count of—”

Varric doesn’t even finish his own sentence before he and Bull take off. I sigh heavily, running after them with Dorian and Cole at my heels. I fall back, pushing the others before me, watching them disappear one by one through the eluvian. The Librarians screech angrily, the sound jarring and horrifying. One almost catches my foot, but I jump through the mirror, crashing into the others and knocking us all down.

“Shit!” I gasp, pulling myself up off Bull to whip around.

“Guess they’re protecting that place,” Dorian says breathlessly, resting his head against the ground for a moment in relief before he stands.

“Thank the Maker for that,” Varric pants.

“Across the bridge then,” I add breathlessly. “Before something else tries to kill us.”

“Wise words,” Varric agrees.

I pull him to his feet, brushing gently past the others to take the lead. I take the stairs quickly, walking across the bridge.

“Careful of the gaps,” I warn. I make a concentrated effort to not look down, ignoring the sharp stab of pain at the memory of the last time I crossed a rickety bridge.

“When we reach the Palace, I’m going to sleep for eleven years,” Varric promises.

“You and me both,” I mutter, my voice thicker than I’d like. I frown at myself. _Keep it together_.

We reach the eluvian on the other side of the bridge unharmed and pass through it without delay.

And then immediately freeze.

Dozens of Qunari were waiting for us. Their weapons are resting heavily on their shoulders or the ground, their visual enough of a warning. They watch us behind their helmets, their eyes dark and unfeeling, waiting for the order. I glance from one to the other, hearing Bull swear behind me.

“Survivor of the Breach,” a deep voice announces, her words sarcastic and irritated.

I look up to the balcony across the courtyard from us to see a Qunari stare down at us. Her eyes are cold and calculating as she takes us in.

“Herald of change,” she continues, her voice becoming even more ironic. “_Hero _of the South.”

“The Viddasala, I presume?” I reply as casually as I can.

“After fulfilling your purpose at the Breach, it is astonishing to hear you still walked free among your people.” The Viddasala’s eyes darken, her expression hardening. “Your duty is _done_, Inquisitor. It is time to end your magic.”

“The Anchor _repairs _tears in the Veil,” I shoot back swiftly. “I would think you’d approve of that.”

“Is that all it does?” she muses, as if entertained by the notion. “Then tell me, why hold your hand as if it’s begun to pain you?” I run my tongue across my teeth irritably. “I am no stranger to catastrophe, but this chaos in the south defies comprehension. The Qun left your people to curb your own magic. You’ve amply proven we should have stepped in long ago.”

Bull swears under his breath again.

“Mm,” I muse, “and is that what Dragon’s Breath is for? Murdering our heads of state just to control our magic? Not an overreaction at all.”

"Boss," Bull warns quietly behind me. The anxious tension in his voice winds a thick coil of fear around me. 

The Viddasala’s lips curl into a tight grimace. “Do you believe closing the Breach solved everything, that its consequences stopped there?”

“Obviously not,” I reply.

“The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action. We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil. This _agent _of Fen’Harel has disrupted everything. Lives that were to be spared, lost for him!”

“Who is this agent?” I demand, praying she doesn’t know. “Why would you think they work for the Inquisition?”

The Viddasala gives me a waning glance before turning around. “Kill the Inquisitor,” she calls, waving her hand. “Then follow me to the Darvaarad.” She disappears into an eluvian, a couple of Qunari going with her. The rest stay.

“Shit,” I snap, throwing up a quick barrier to catch a flurry of pikes launched at us.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Bull says, waiting a moment. He raises his hammer. “Against me, they’re gonna need a whole lot more.”

I cast a quick protection spell around him as he charges forward before raising a fire wall between him and several of the other Qunari warriors. Dorian works beside me swiftly as Cole flits around the courtyard in the blink of an eye. His blades clash against armor and war hammers, the graceful ring of metal almost amusing when juxtaposed with the rumbling roars and heavy thuds coming from Bull’s direction. One of the Qunari runs at us, and I conjure my spirit blade swiftly, stabbing him through the chest when he dodges Dorian’s spell. Bull gives another mighty roar, slamming his hammer down several times to beat back a volley of warriors. I call down a lightning storm over the long-distance fighters, forcing them from their high posts. They land hard on the ground, solid thuds shaking the ground from their weighty weapons, and then they rush at us.

Dorian raises a wall of fire while I trap several in ice, but one manages to slip through unscathed. Varric’s arrows land in the Qunari’s chest, but he charges at me all the same, completely ignoring his wounds. I back up several steps, breathing out slowly and calmly as I ready my blade. Bull has run this drill too many times for me to freeze at the sight of a charging Qunari anymore. The warrior lunges at me, and I roll between his legs, stabbing the back of his knee with my sword.

Bull laughs loudly. “There ya go, boss!”

I trap the Qunari’s foot in ice, rising to feet swiftly to stab him through the back before he can whip around. The Qunari doesn’t even react. He grips my arm, jerking me to his front, and I dodge his fist clumsily, taken off guard. As if in response to the spike of adrenaline, my left hand starts humming loudly, and then it explodes. I cry out, flying backwards several feet. I hit a wall hard, a screech of agony escaping my lips as my fingers quake wildly. The Qunari stops and sways for a few seconds, and then he falls to the ground in a heavy heap as I grip my wrist, breathing sharply through my teeth. Tears stream down my cheeks, and I cough out a sob at the white-hot pain. Several more Qunari in the area hit the ground hard, struck dead by my hand’s explosive blast. I groan and stand weakly, trying to raise a wall of fire between Varric and an approaching warrior, but it flails pathetically, barely a foot high.

I gasp and step forward, feeling the ache spread higher on my wrist than ever before, gripping me in a tight chasm of pain and fire and agony. Bull roars and comes to Varric’s side, slamming the warrior to the ground. Dorian’s magic flicks across the field, spells that knock back the Qunari or keep them down. Cole flits quickly back and forth, his daggers a flurry of quick, precise hits. Several Qunari fall to him at once, and then he appears at my side, his daggers raised when a warrior approaches me. I didn’t even see the Qunari. Cole ducks under the first thrust, rounding the Qunari to stab him once in the back and once in the neck. The warrior falls at my feet, and I gasp again, reeling at another wave of pain.

“It is worse!” Cole exclaims anxiously, looking at my flaring hand.

I shake my head to deny it but grunt instead, staggering forward when my knees threaten to give out. Three Qunari break past Bull and Cole’s defenses, charging for me. The Anchor flares again, tears springing to my eyes again as I cry out. Fire rips across my skin as my bone splits. My fingers glow a brilliant green, and then my hand explodes again, energy bursting loudly and swiftly through the field, forcing me back again. I stumble to the ground, gasping as I bring my hand to my chest. The Qunari sway and then fall, their bodies not even twitching on the ground.

“Shit,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I move to my knees. My chest tightens, and I cry more when I recall the way Solas always helped me. Some wild part of me wants to beg Bull to cut my hand off just to end the pain. It hurts worse than it ever did when Solas was there to calm it.

A cold dread sweeps through me, a knowledge that I didn’t want to admit I had.

It _is _getting worse. 

I close my eyes, gasping sharply.

It’s killing me. I can feel it spreading, pain spiking up my forearm higher than ever before.

My eyes flash open again, and a sob slips through my chest, unheard by anyone else. I force myself back to my feet, angrily thrusting an ice dagger at a Qunari when he tries to flank Dorian.

The last warrior falls to Bull’s hammer, and I force my hand into a tight fist that aches as it glows brilliantly.

“Boss!” Bull shouts, jogging over to me breathlessly. “You okay?”

I nod with difficulty, still unable to see. “Let’s go,” I say hoarsely. “We have to get back to the Winter Palace, warn the others—and then I have to go to the Davaarad.”

“Snow, let’s just take a minute to—”

“No, I’m alright, Varric,” I say quickly, jogging up the steps to the balcony above. “We’re already behind. We don’t have time.”

I see the eluvian the Viddasala went through, but it’s dark—sealed. I curse silently and then keep going, spying an eluvian across a wide gap. Before it, an archivist waits.

“Visitors!” the spirit greets. “Patrons! Welcome! The halls are open.”

“Do you know the Viddasala?” I ask, my voice tight. Sweat beads my forehead, and I sway, moving my hand to the wall to keep myself balanced. Varric looks up at me, and I avoid his eyes, watching the Archivist instead.

“Yes,” the spirit answers.

“Do you know where she went? Do you know where Davaarad is?”

“Yes. We heard much, although she fooled herself into thinking we could not hear. ‘Take a keystone to the Davaarad. I will join you there soon and take stock of our remaining gaatlok powder.’”

“What’s a keystone?” I ask.

“This is…going to sound far too convenient,” Dorian says, rustling through his pockets, “but I found one on a Qunari body and kept it. Keystones are incredibly useful and—”

“Yes,” the Archivist says, “the keystone.”

“Dorian, you’re brilliant,” I say breathlessly.

“You need words for their key,” the spirit continues. “Maraas nehraa.” The keystone lights up in Dorian’s hand, a brilliant blue shining through the careful etchings on the small rock. “It glows. It will open the way to Darvaarad. May you find what you seek. In coming here, you strengthen the paths. I can now raise a new one, if you wish to go.” Behind the spirit, stone slabs shift into place, pulled off the ground before erected across the gap to the eluvian.

“Ma serannas,” I nod formally. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, uh…” I frown, unsure what to call the spirirt.

“Ghil-Dirthalen was what the elvhen called me. ‘One who guides seekers of knowledge true.’” I wince at the nickname I recall bestowing upon Solas in jest; his answering smile is burned into my memory, hurting me more. “I was _connection_,” the spirit continues. “One city could read the records of another, one elvhen feel the memories of another. When the Veil fell upon us, I marked the end of all they knew.”

I look down, a new weight settling over me.

“Come on,” Varric murmurs, moving his hand to my back. “We’re almost done, Snow.”

***

Josephine leans around Cullen to see Leliana. “Your agents confirm there are gaatlok barrels in Denerim’s palace?” she gasps incredulously.

“Yes,” Leliana nods, her hands behind her back, “and in Val Royeaux and across the Free Marches. The Winter Palace is not the only target.”

I look down in horror, feeling cold.

Cullen shakes his head, aghast. “The Qunari are one order from destroying every noble house in the known world.”

“There is a bright side,” Josie offers weakly. “Warning the ambassadors will remind them of the Inquisition’s value.”

“Not when the Inquisition is responsible for that threat.”

Everyone looks up sharply at Leliana.

“_What_?” I exclaim.

She glances at me evenly. “The elven servant handling the barrels has disappeared from custody. Notes in his quarters suggest he was a Qunari spy.”

Josie gapes at her. “But the servant was _Orlesian_,” she fumbles. “That implicates _Orlais_, not us.”

“But the barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition’s supply manifest.”

Cullen runs a hand over his eyes, sighing heavily. “How are we supposed to fight a war when we can’t even trust our own people?”

“Who put the barrels on the manifest?” I ask quickly. “Do you know?”

“Yes,” Leliana murmurs, and I sense more bad news. “Several of the Inquisition’s elven workers have gone missing. I had their backgrounds checked. They joined the Inquisition after fleeing the chaos in Kirkwall.”

I close my eyes tightly, leaning against the table heavily and bowing my head.

“I remember when Kirkwall was at its worst,” Cullen mutters. “Many of the city’s elves converted to the Qun, trying to find a better life.”

“And the Qunari turned them into spies,” Josie whispers.

I shake my head, tightening my fingers against the table. “A few years ago, we railed at the mages in Redcliffe for becoming corrupt. We did the same to the Grey Wardens.” I stare bitterly at the maps before me. “Look at us now.”

“I _fought _to protect the Inquisition in the Exalted Council,” Josie says, her voice raising in octave and pitch. “And for what?” she gasps tearfully. “So we could deceive and threaten those we _claimed _to protect?”

Cullen turns on her. “Once we locate the spies—”

“This isn’t _about _the spies!” she exclaims. “_You _hid the Qunari body. You’ve all but _seized _control of the Winter Palace!”

“We did what was right,” Cullen argues heatedly, “not what was ‘politically convenient.’”

A flicker of rage jerks through me, and I close my eyes, struggling to control it.

“Do you _know _what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden?” Josie demands, her voice angry and sorrowful. “They are planning to _dismantle _us as we speak! And perhaps they are right,” she finishes, her voice barely a whisper.

My hand flares again, and I cry out, jerking back. The others turn to me in shock, and Cullen comes around the table urgently. The others follow him quickly, stopping before me. I gasp and reel back, pain lancing up my arm, constricting my muscles and searing along my bones. I grip my wrist, weakening at the waist as tears spring to my eyes. 

Anger and fear and disappointment and heart-wrenching agony sweep through me staggeringly before I settle on rage.

“Shit, damn it!” I seethe, shaking my head as my fingers spasm. “We save Ferelden, and they’re angry. We save Orlais, and _they’re _angry! We close the Breach _twice_, and my own hand wants to kill me. Could one thing in this _fucking _world just stay fixed?!” I shriek, anger tightening my chest. “I _need _to get to the Darvaarad,” I say through my teeth. “You call can fight amongst yourselves once I’m…” The anger whooshes out of me as quick as it had come, leaving me drained and exhausted. “Once I’m back,” I finish quietly, leaning heavily against the wall.

Cullen and Josie look shocked. Even Leliana is surprised, and I immediately regret my outburst. None of this is their fault.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Leliana says quietly.

Josie steps forward once, hesitantly. “Would you…would you like us to inform the Exalted Council of the danger?”

I close my eyes, lifting my hand to them briefly before I nod and look at her. “Yes,” I reply quietly, my vision blurring with exhaustion and pain. I move a hand to the table beside me, suddenly wary of collapsing. “If we fail, the Exalted Council needs to know what happened.”

“I will inform them personally,” Leliana promises.

“Leliana,” Josie says, glancing at her. “I can—”

“No,” Leliana says softly. “Your job is hard enough already. This is my responsibility,” she adds with a resolute nod.

“I’ll have guards ready at the eluvian,” Cullen adds, “in case the Qunari attack the palace.”

“Thank you,” I sigh, sagging a little. “Thank you all. I…I’ve said it before, but I mean it. I could never have asked for a finer council. Look after yourselves, alright?”

Cullen’s eyes tighten. “Let me come with you, Inquisitor.”

“No,” I murmur, shaking my head.

“Please,” he says. “You’re drained. I can fight; I can help.”

“I need you here, in case the Qunari—”

“We have hundreds of soldiers to fight. Let me do this with you all. My sword is yours. Please, Suledin.”

I shake my head again. “Thank you, Cullen,” I reply, looking at him. “Really. But this is my responsibility. Your duty is here, with Leliana and Josie and our men.”

Cullen gives me a worried look, but he doesn’t argue further.

Leliana inclines her head towards me. When she meets my eyes, she seems to understand something the others don't. I know I'm likely not coming back from this, and her eyes tighten when she reads that acknowledgment in my expression. “May the Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. It has been an honor.”


	64. By Blood and Lyrium

Night has well fallen when I finally back it back outside. I tried to rest for a short while in my room, but I wasn’t able to actually sleep; thoughts plagued me as memories pulled at my chest ceaselessly until I finally gave up.

I walk slowly over to the room where the eluvian was moved, hesitating when I see the others. Dorian, Varric, Bull, and Cole sit up from where they were waiting, and I sigh, my heart pounding erratically.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I say, their loyalty making me weak again.

“What, and miss all the fun?” Bull replies. “Not on your life, boss.”

“You all must be exhausted.”

“No more than you, Sul,” Dorian answers. “We’re with you.”

“Are you certain?”

“Let’s _go_,” Dorian insists, smirking at me, “or else the Viddasala will think she succeeded in killing us. Let’s ruin her night, shall we?”

“Alright,” I murmur, looking down. “Thank you.”

“We follow your lead, boss,” Bull smiles, winking at me when I glance at him.

I nod again, my chest warm as I lead them to the room and through the eluvian.

“Look,” Varric says as we reach the Crossroads once more. He points ahead of us to a shining mirror. “That eluvian wasn’t working before.”

“Let’s hope it leads to Darvaarad,” I reply.

“Oh, shoot, I forgot the keystone!” Dorian exclaims. I glance at him, and he smirks. “I guess that would’ve been funnier if we weren’t technically a few feet from the Winter Palace.”

I chuckle. “No, it was funny.”

“She’s just saying that ‘cause you’re friends, Sparkles,” Varric mumbles.

“Thank you, Varric,” Dorian says, touching his chest. “I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Maker’s balls,” Varric snorts.

I grin at them and move ahead, walking briskly to the eluvian.

“Wait,” Varric suddenly says, catching my arm before I move through the glass. “Nightingale told us about your hand…”

“It hurts,” Cole adds sympathetically. “It’s pulling you apart.”

I close my eyes briefly, looking at them. “We all knew this was probably our last time together anyway,” I murmur, my eyes filling. “So let’s make it a good one, yeah?” I swallow thickly. “It has been my genuine honor to serve beside each and every one of you.”

“You, too, Snow,” Varric murmurs, looking down. “Alright, Bianca…let’s show all the tall people how it’s done. One last time.”

“We _helped_,” Cole smiles. “All of us. I won’t forget.”

“Enjoy me while you can,” Dorian sighs. “I expect you’ll all miss me terribly later.”

Bull rolls his eyes at at the mage before looking at me seriously. “It’s been an honor to kick asses beside you all,” Bull says sincerely. “_Anaan_.”

I nod formally, looking at each of them before I turn around and pass through the eluvian.

We come out to a fortress in the dead of night, the moon providing the only true source of light on the ramparts. Glass breaks beneath my boots, and I look down and then around to see thousands of shards of golden glass. Broken eluvians are smashed against the walls of the fortress, and I realize they’re littering the place, hundreds destroyed beyond repair. Anger rips through me devastatingly. The insult upsets me more than it should—the audacity to destroy remnants of another’s culture.

“Down!” Dorian hisses, pulling me and the others aside to a half-wall.

I freeze when I hear the patrol pass by—at least four Qunari, their marching steps perfectly synchronized.

Bull glances over the wall, studying the fortress before he ducks back down. “So,” he mutters quietly, “way I see it, we got two options. We hit ‘em hard and fast, take out as many as we can or…we wait for the patrol to go by and sneak through as best we can for as _long _as we can. Slower and more difficult that way, but we’re more likely to reach the Viddasala if we don’t alert the whole fortress.”

I nod in agreement. “Let’s do it that way. We have to stop those assassinations. That’s our top priority here.”

“Alright. Good. Follow my lead.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dorian whispers. “We’re following the ten-foot-tall Qunari? Shouldn’t we let someone…less…noticeable lead?”

“Guess that excludes you,” Varric mumbles.

“I stand corrected. _That _is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’re following a former Ben-Hassrath,” Bull whispers back. “So yeah, ‘less you wanna get killed, the ten-foot-tall Qunari’s your best bet.”

“Go on, Bull,” I nod. “I trust you.”

“Alright, couple notes. Move swiftly and quietly. If you’re in the shadows, and you think someone’s seen you, _don’t _jerk out of the way. Stay still, and they’ll probably move on. And try to stay low. People are used to scanning at eye level.”

“I was born for this stealth mission,” Varric says.

I laugh quietly, shaking my head at him.

“Everyone ready?” Bull asks, glancing around. “Good. Let’s go.”

I follow right behind Bull when he moves out from behind cover. He ducks behind another wall, careful of the glass below our feet, and I make sure to follow his every movement as best I can. He waits a moment and then moves forward, crossing the bridge a few feet before ducking into the next small alcove. I glance back to see the others safely across, and then Bull moves again, ducking his head when he reaches the lowest part of the wall. A couple Qunari walk past, and it feels eerie that they don’t so much as talk to each other as they patrol. Bull waits for them to pass and then crosses the bridge to another alcove.

“We’re gonna have to run ahead next time,” he whispers quietly. “Everyone ready? Watch for the guy up on the hill. He turns around every fifty-four seconds.”

“How did you even have time to measure that?” Varric wonders.

“Ben-Hassrath,” is all Bull replies before he moves again. I follow him, jogging in a hunched position. I glance up at the man on the hill, knowing Bull’s right but still feeling anxious. We make it to the next alcove unscathed, but I turn around to see that Dorian and Cole got left behind. They wait and then follow us, coming quietly to press against the wall beside us.

“Alright,” Bull whispers. “Next, we're gonna have to—”

My hand flares, and I gasp in agony as it blinds me. Bull’s hand presses over my mouth, and I lean against him, recoiling. He grips my left arm as it writhes, and I huff out a muffled cry against his fingers, trying to control myself. Tears stream down my cheeks, slipping across his hand, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tensing. I jerk against Bull, sobbing again as he muffles the sound.

“I got you, boss,” he whispers.

Dorian grips my right hand, bringing it to his chest. I squeeze his fingers for dear life as my left hand seizes and jerks in Bull’s grasp.

“It hurts,” Cole gasps. “It’s _everywhere_.”

I sob against Bull’s hand, tears leaking down in greater volume when the pain doesn’t stop. It should have by now. Bull tightens his grip on me, and I buck against him, my hands shaking badly.

Someone above us mutters something I can’t hear past the roaring in my ears.

“Cole,” Bull whispers. “Guy above us sees the light.”

Cole nods and disappears. He’s only gone a split second, reappearing in the same spot in the blink of an eye. A second later, a Qunari silently topples off the ledge above us and falls into the abyss below.

“It’s not stopping!” Cole breathes, voicing my thoughts with equal panic. “Hurts, it hurts, it—_hurts_!”

Dorian tightens his fingers on mine, holding my hand in both of his.

I want to beg Bull to cut it off again. I think I would if his hand wasn’t blocking me. I sob against his fingers again, my heart pounding erratically. His presses his hand closer to my mouth, muffling all my sounds. My breaths are loud through my nose, panicked and shaky. My arm spasms in Bull’s fingers, quaking and trembling. The pain climbs higher, reaching halfway up my forearm. The green glow is dragged along with it, spiking sporadically and uncontrollably. Bull doesn't move his hand, gripping my wrist too tight to keep it still. I see the others watch it expand before our eyes in horror. Tears continue leak down my cheeks, and I sob again, this time in raw, crippling fear. Solas flits through my mind, blinding me with agonizing pain and overwhelming joy. I see myself laying against his lap, his warm smile amused at something I said as he brushes his fingers against my arm. His laugh echoes in my thoughts, torturing me.

I had hoped...

I suppose it doesn’t matter now.

The pain doesn’t stop for so long that I'm terrified it never will. When it finally does, I drop against Bull heavily, weak and utterly drained.

“Boss?” Bull whispers anxiously, nudging me. “You awake?”

I nod weakly, and he moves his hand from my mouth. I breathe in deeply, shaking. “Sorry,” I gasp, trying to sit up.

“Don’t apologize,” Dorian says immediately, his fingers still clutching mine.

“I’m ready,” I say, my hand twitching weakly as Bull releases it. The glow dies down to a less obvious light, but it still spikes sporadically.

“We can take a minute,” Bull says.

“I don’t—I don’t know how much longer I have,” I admit.

Everyone looks at me in shock—everyone but Cole.

“It is killing her,” Cole confirms softly. I move my left hand to grip the wolf’s jawbone necklace, even though it aches through my fingers to do so. Varric's and Bull’s eyes follow the gesture, their expressions tightening as more tears slip down my cheeks. 

“What?” Dorian demands, his whisper angry. “No—that’s...that is _unacceptable_, Sul, do you hear me? We’ll have a look at it when we’re done here. Everything will be alright.”

“He’s right,” Varric nods. “We’ll talk to Dagna. She can make another glove for you.”

“It is worse than before. She is dying,” Cole murmurs.

“Kid, stop,” Varric orders, his normally light tone with Cole weighted down. “It’s okay, Snow. We’ll get you fixed up. You’re not dying here. _No one_ is dying here, you got it?”

I look at him, so sorry that it makes me cry more, regretting that he'll lose another friend tonight. “We have to move,” I say softly. “I’m ready.”

Dorian squeezes my fingers and then releases my hand as Bull stands and crouches down, waiting for us to get ready. He takes my arm gingerly, helping me to my feet. I nod at him gratefully and he turns around, leading us quickly. My left hand aches around the jawbone, but I don’t dare loosen my fingers. I had hoped to see him, one last time.

Bull manages to sneak us around the others in small bursts of quiet jogging and hiding. There are a couple of impassable Qunari that Bull sends Cole to deal with, but otherwise we manage to make it through to the fortress gates with everyone else unaware. He pulls us down behind a half-wall near the large metal door and studies it a moment unhappily.

“Crap,” he sighs, ducking down again.

“What is it?” I ask.

“We can get it open,” he answers, “but it won’t be quiet.”

“Of course it won’t,” Varric sighs. “This was too easy. If I wrote a scene like this in a book, no one would believe it.”

“So what do we do?” I wonder.

“To get the door open?” Bull asks, jerking a thumb at it. “There’s three levers up near the thing; we’ll have to pull them all at the same time. The door will swing open, but no way it goes unnoticed.”

“We’ll raise fire walls,” I decide. “Dorian and I, along the main paths. You three can get the door open, and then we’ll run inside together.” It’s not fool-proof, but it’s all we have.

Bull glances at me, a glint of concern in his eye. “You sure you can—”

“Yes,” I say firmly, both for his benefit and mine. “I can do it.”

“Alright, boss.”

I stand with Dorian, sweat beading my forehead as I wait for Bull, Cole, and Varric to cross to the levers. They do so quietly and carefully, but none of the guards imagine someone has snuck through them, so they don’t turn around.

Dorian looks at me, and I clench my jaw, focusing my blurred vision on the others, waiting for a signal to let us know they’re ready. It takes a long time—too long, but then Bull looks up at me and nods once.

“Ready?” I breathe.

“Always,” Dorian whispers back.

I nod, ducking my head briefly as I summon my waning energy.

I raise my right hand, muttering quickly under my breath. Dorian follows alongside me, both his hands outstretched. Two fire walls flicker to life, raising at varying heights. Dorian’s is strong and powerful, flaring and shining brilliantly. Mine is weak and low, barely half my own height—not good enough. I close my eyes, focusing on my magic to build my wall higher, and then I feel Dorian’s magic. He extends his will to me, and I draw from it reluctantly. It isn’t a perfect fit; it feels so very different from the beauty of casting with Solas. Dorian’s clashes and rolls against mine, his magic more aggressive, more dominant, but it lends me the energy I need to build my wall as high as his.

As soon as the walls are up, the light catches the guards’ attentions. I hear Qunari shouting, and the sounds of the door being pried open. Bull wasn’t kidding; it _is _loud, screeching against its hinges as if it doesn’t want to be opened.

My fire wall weakens, and I grit my teeth, glaring as sweat dews and drips down my forehead. Tears brim my eyes from exhaustion and pain, but I focus everything on the wall. It flickers low for a moment before towering up higher than Dorian’s, flames blocking the charging Qunari. They hesitate, shouting at each other as they look for a weakness. I try not to give them one. I breathe out slowly, focusing on the way the wall feels. Even from so far away, it bathes me in its heat, warmth trickling past my hand into my clothes, seeping down to my bones. Dorian murmurs beside me, thickening both our walls, his hands curling slightly from the pull of magic.

The door bursts open, and Bull shouts at us. Dorian and I walk backwards slowly, keeping our walls in place.

“Now, Varric!” Bull shouts when we get close. His arms wrap around our waists, pulling Dorian and me inside quickly as Varric shoots an arrow out past the door. Bull whips around again, yanking the door shut as swiftly as he can, ignoring the way the steel whines in protest. Just as the door meets the latch, a massive explosion from outside throws us all back. My elbow cracks against the floor when I fall, making me curse softly.

“Guess we know what took you too so long,” Dorian muses.

“They won’t be able to follow us now,” Bull replies. “Not anytime soon, anyway.”

“Hope there’s another way out.”

“It’s a fortress,” Bull retorts. “Of course there’s another way out.”

“There’s only one gate at Skyhold,” Dorian points out. 

Bull snorts. “There’s another entrance to Skyhold.”

Everyone looks at him; even I’m shocked.

“Ah, don’t worry, boss. My boys and I got it covered soon as we found it.”

“Well, shit,” I muse. “Thank you. Good work,” I add, nodding at the door. I pull myself to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“No, wait!” Bull pulls me back by my belt, and I hear boots slapping heavily against the pavement down the hall. I look up to him, and Bull smirks. “Don’t worry, boss. We got this.”

“Save your energy,” Dorian agrees.

“My energy’s fine,” I argue. I thrust my hand out, summoning my spirit blade. “Let’s do this.”

Bull gives me a smirk that seems profoundly proud and nods, charging the Qunari. I run behind him, stopping a sword with mine with it tries to run me through. I grunt, casting it aside with a move Cass taught me before she left for Val Royeaux. I focus my energy the way my trainer encouraged and launch a fireball at the Qunari without needing my hands free. He flies back a few feet, catching himself before he runs forward again. I duck his first lunge, hitting the wall as Varric's bolts stab into him, but the Qunari is not deterred. I kick off the wall, driving my blade into the Qunari’s chest under his plating. He gasps and falls, and I conjure an ice dagger, throwing it at one of the Qunari preparing to throw a spear. It hits him in the head between the slits in his helmet, which wasn’t where I was aiming, but I continue without considering the implication.

Dorian and Varric work quickly, and Cole appears beside me, his blades a blur of unseen strikes that leave Qunari hesitating, as if in shock, before falling. Three more Qunari rush at me from down a hall to my left, and I don’t have time to react with anything other than my aching left hand. I thrust it out, grunting loudly when it explodes. I hit the wall dizzily and see the rest of the Qunari in the hall fall to the ground heavily without another twitch. I pant, my vision blurring as the fire in my arm gets worse.

“What was that?” Bull asks, glancing at my hand as he helps me up.

“Got an upgrade,” I gasp lightly, remaining on my feet weakly. “Let’s keep at it.”

“It feels like fire,” Cole murmurs. “Fire and glass—worse than before.”

The others stare at me, agonized expressions clouding their faces.

“Cole,” I grunt in warning, walking forward. “You don’t need to do that.”

“They’re worried.”

“I can do this.”

“That’s not why they're worried.”

I look down briefly before pushing on, jogging through the hall. A group of Qunari sit in the room beside us, and I slam the door closed, freezing it shut before I run forward again. Time feels so fragile here, and I know I need to finish this before I’m done. I can’t fail here. There’s no room for error.

I burst through a door at the end of the long hall and then freeze, panting breathlessly as I stare through a massive gate into the next room. I imagine it was once, perhaps, an indoor training yard. Dummies are erected along the walls, some tossed over carelessly. What is in the middle, however, makes everything else pale in comparison.

“Dragon’s Breath,” I gasp, “is an _actual _dragon?”

The creature is massive, green scales glinting as she roars in fury. I see three wide rings of fire surrounding her, embedded in the floor to keep her trapped in the center of the room, unable to escape. Milky scars crisscross the abused dragon’s legs, torso, and face, raking up her back from who knows how many months or years of torture. Her wings are pinned to her sides, tied together with leather cords. Something wild and angry rushes through me, and I suddenly don’t feel guilty for the Qunari we’ve killed to get here. This is monstrous.

Several Qunari burst through the room, shouting something in Qunlat. Another door bursts open on a landing high above, and the Viddasala stalks out angrily, looking down at us. “Nehraa,” she shouts, her words lost on me, though her intent is undeniable. “Ataashi-asaara meravas adim kata!”

The Qunari in the room face us, their weapons ready as they wait for the order.

The Viddasala looks past me. “Hissrad!” she implores. “Now, please! Vinek kathas!”

Bull’s hand drops on my shoulder, his fingers gentle. “Not a chance, _ma’am_,” he replies.

A grin flashes across my face as tears flood my eyes. “I fucking love you, Bull,” I say, glancing at him once before turning back to the Viddasala. “Didn’t you hear?” I call to her. “He’s not your Hissrad any longer; he’s the _Iron fucking Bull_.”

The Viddasala shouts something else, angry betrayal shining in her eyes. Her words are far too fast for me to even acknowledge, but the intent, once again, is clear. Several more warriors run into the room from behind her, taking the stairs down swiftly to join their brothers-in-arms.

Bull gives a hearty laugh. “I got this one, boss.”

“You have come far, Inquisitor,” the Viddasala calls to me. “No more.” She turns and departs, slamming the door behind her as she shouts at someone else.

Bull grabs a canister with one hand, the silver plating massive and heavy enough to normally demand that many people lift it. Bull does it with ease. “Hey, Varric,” he muses. “Think you and Bianca can hit this?”

“Do we think we can—you _wound _me.”

Bull smirks and throws the canister. I watch as Varric waits for a weightless, breathless moment, and then he pulls the trigger. Bull wraps his arm around my waist, turning us around to shield me from the blast as the explosion rips across the room. I close my eyes tightly at the searing heat that follows, not even hearing anyone scream before the room falls silently again. Bull jerks forward a step from the force of it, and I raise my hand to his worriedly. When the explosion dies down, he stands upright again, releasing me.

“Everyone alright?” he calls.

“Still in one piece,” Dorian replies.

“That shit is insane,” Varric sighs.

I manage a brief glance at the bodies, wincing at the carnage. “Well…that’s certainly an efficient way to take out a group.”

“Figured we were in a hurry,” Bull shrugs.

I nod, making a face before I remember what he just did for me. I look up at him, warmth flooding my chest. “Thank you, Bull,” I murmur.

He laughs, his expression kind and warm. “What, thought I’d roll over for the Qun? No, no, no—you ‘n the Chargers are family.”

My eyes flood again, and I grin at him.

“Uh, guys, not to interrupt this touching moment,” Varric says, “but…big dragon—assassination plot—terrible time constraint?”

“Right, yep, sorry,” I reply, charging forward. I run through the bloodbath to the door at the end of the room, slamming it closed after we’re out. I freeze it shut when I hear more warriors enter the hall, securing it before I run forward again.

We find ourselves outside now on the battlements once more. A flight of stairs leads us up to another terrace, and we burst through the door to the chamber where the dragon is roaring angrily, her voice fierce but hurt. I hesitate a moment, watching her breathe a cloud of smoke. Her breath doesn’t catch with fire, however; a poisonous green vapor fills the room instead, reacting violently with the fire rings keeping the dragon in place. Up close, I see what I couldn't from the other room. Thick threads of lyrium have been forced into and under her skin, shining brilliantly in the room as the dragon kicks and roars again.

“This is barbaric,” I breathe in grief.

“Her captors have already mutilated her,” Dorian says sadly. “It’s needlessly cruel to kill her.”

“The floor, Snow,” Varric says, pointing. “The fire’s keeping her constrained, but it’s on a track. We can move the levers and push her out the gate.”

“The _closed _gate,” Bull points out. “She’s locked in.”

“I’ll get the gate,” I reply immediately.

“No,” Dorian and Bull say together. “I’ll do it,” Bull adds.

“No, _I’ll _do it,” I say firmly.

He gives me a quick glance. “There’s two levers, boss. Three of us stay up here, move the fire rings, and two of us—you and me—go down, dodge the dragon, and open the gate. It’s the fastest way.”

I glance at him and sigh. “Alright. Be careful.”

“Good,” he grins. “And I thought today would just suck. A _dragon_. Finally.”

“Be careful,” I say again to the others. “Don’t get hurt.”

“You, too, Snow.”

We separate. Bull and I run on opposite sides of the dragon, and I see the rings of fire begin to turn slowly. The dragon screeches, and a clawed hand comes rushing at me. I duck and roll, barely avoiding her.

“Hey!” Bull shouts. “She doesn’t get to have all the fun!”

The dragon startles and turns around angrily, giving her attention to Bull. He laughs and dodges easily. The dragon’s tail comes sweeping angrily at me, her scales scarred and torn from where she must have accidentally hit the fire rings. I jump over the tail carefully, slamming into the wall where the lever is. Bull reaches his at the same time, and we open the gate as swiftly as we can. Bull suddenly stops, jerking and rolling back to avoid a breath of toxic gas. He waits a moment before returning, yanking the chains quickly. My hand aches as I work, but I don’t dare slow down.

“There!” I exclaim, backing away from my chains. I lower my weight, staring at the dragon warily.

She roars again, her eyes catching on the open gate and the lack of a fire ring. She looks down at me, her eyes boring into me. My heart skips a beat as I wait, and I know she has all the power here; she could do whatever she wants.

"It's alright," I murmur to her, holding up my hands. "My keeper used to say dragons are beautiful, intelligent creatures, creatures of the gods. Some say they can understand language, or at least intent. I don't know if that's true, but...I need to unpin your wings." I hold up my hands, conjuring a blade slowly. The dragon jerks back again in shock, and I hold up my hands again. "It's alright. Trust me. I won't hurt you; I promise." The dragon steps back as Bull calls a warning to me. I murmur to the dragon softly. She doesn't try to kick me, but she's visibly shaken as I approach closer with my blade. "I'm just undoing your bindings," I assure her again. "It's alright. They can't hurt you anymore. You are free." I slip my hand under the leather, cutting it swiftly. As soon as the first cord is released, the dragon tenses, waiting nervously. I walk further down her side, and her eyes follow me, her neck bending to watch me warily. I grab the bindings again, careful not to harm her already mottled scales. I cut the cord and her wings fall free from her sides.

I let my blade disappear and raise my hands again. The dragon stares at me, her wings unfurling majestically in the room. She could do anything to me she wanted, but I think she understands. She breathes out in a huff and then races past me, taking her freedom at once. I whip around the edge of the gate when she’s gone to see her run down the bridge outside. Her wings unfurl, massive and beautiful as she gives a mighty roar. Qunari on the bridge back away, terrified, and then turn around and run. She catches three of them easily in her claws before taking off. Her wings whip wind past my face, pulling short strands of my hair into my eyes as she lifts herself high into the air. She drops the Qunari when she’s amongst the clouds, and they scream on their way back down, hitting the bridge hard or missing it entirely. The dragon roars into the night again, the sound free and majestic as she soars overhead, and then she disappears in a puff of clouds.

I grin at the sight, tears brimming my eyes, and then I run down the bridge. The Viddasala is far on the other end, a dozen more Qunari waiting with her at an eluvian. She glares at me, her hands curled into fists as the others walk through the eluvian slowly, as if they have all the time in the world.

“Pashaara!” she shouts angrily.

The Qunari at the back of the line turn around and shout in unison, holding their weapons up. I stop short of their pikes, breathing hard. I glare at the Viddasala, tensed as I wait for her command to kills us. Instead, she simply stares at us. There isn’t time to do anything else, because my hand suddenly flares. My eyes widen in pain, and I cry out, jerked to my knees.

“Boss!” Bull says, kneeling beside me. His heavy hand rests on my back, comforting but unable to help.

“Dear Inquisitor,” the Viddasala sighs, as if regrettably, “you have such little time left. You must finally see the truth.” Tears stream down my cheeks as she ushers more Qunari through the eluvian. She steps forward once, looking down at me. “Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen’Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well.”

I grit my teeth, grunting again with a bitter laugh. “Whatever you think I’ve done—mass assassination isn’t a good moral high ground.”

“The South was poisoned by these elves’ manipulations. It suffers just as you do now. You would have died from the mark on your hand but for the help of one of their chief agents.” My chest tightens. “The same agent who helped seal the Breach, who led you to Skyhold, who gave Corypheus the orb, then founded the Inquisition.” No. “Solas, agent of Fen’Harel.”

I hang my head, tears falling down my cheeks. She knows his name; that terrifies me. Even still, I almost laugh in relief when she doesn't know the truth. He is no one’s agent but his own.

“Did you not know?” the Viddasala calls, misinterpreting our silence. “We thought you were his ally. Solas tricked us all. _He _pushed a dying Qunari into the Winter Palace, to lure you into opposing us.” Blood drains from my face, and I jerk my head up at that, staring at her with wide eyes. “I surprise you again,” she notes as my heart stops. “Yes, it was he who involved you. Without him, we could have brought the South peace and wisdom along the gentle path. Now we must take the way of blades.”

“Solas is here? This whole time?” I breathe, my voice as broken as I feel. My hand flares again, and I cry out, gasping as my chest aches.

“Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you.”

“No!” I scream as she turns and slips through the eluvian.

I scramble to my feet, running after her.

“Boss, no, _wait_!” Bull shouts. “She has a saarebas with—”

His words are lost on me as I slip through the eluvian after her. I hesitate on the other side, seeing the Qunari far ahead of me, running forward and out of sight. This eluvian brought me to a beautiful place—ancient elven ruins overtaken by vibrant plants and flowers—reds and greens and oranges glowing in the golden evening sun. I can’t appreciate it as I run after the Qunari, fear and agony pushing me harder than I can go.

“Snow, wait up!” Varric calls.

I glance back to see them all following me, and I stop, panting against a wall. My ribs whine in protest as my chest and throat ache. I cry against the stone, gripping my wrist as the mark spread up my arm to my elbow, green energy spiking unrhythmically.

“Please—” I beg senselessly. “I have to save him—I can’t stop now.” Another wave of pain makes me bend over, clutching my arm. If I didn’t think it would slow me down so much, I’d ask Bull to cut it off.

“Dorian, can you do anything?” Varric asks, his voice desperate.

“No,” Dorian whispers, pale. “This is…beyond even my magic.”

“It hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_,” Cole whines. “Pain wracking, wreaking, warring—cut it off, take it away—pain in my chest, in my arm—need to see him—one last time before I—”

“Cole,” I beg, closing my eyes tight.

“Your arm is on fire—glass and fire and—agony—too much—”

“We have to move,” I say, pushing off the wall. I run forward, ignoring everyone’s pale, worried expressions as my hand spasms at my side.

“Up there!” Cole exclaims.

I look up to see the Qunari rush over the cusp of a ruin and disappear. I push myself harder, faster, my lungs burning and the stitch in my side expanding. My hand suddenly flares and pulls me to my knees. I feel energy building up, and terror whips through me.

“It’s—it's going to—everyone back!” I scream, holding my hand.

Bull tackles the others, and I scream again with my hand explodes. The sound deafens me as green energy bursts out from my arm, scorching and frying the stone around me. I scream again when it explodes a second time, my arm disappearing under the green glow.

“We have to find Solas!” Dorian exclaims desperately. “Maybe he can do something! He knew how to tame it!”

I pull myself up, staggering forward against the wall before I force myself into another run.

“Solas doesn’t want to hurt people!” Cole calls. “He isn’t that kind of wolf! The Qunari don’t see!”

My lungs ache in protest as my heart thuds erratically in my ears. _Please—Mythal—anyone, please let me find him—please let me save him._

I reach the top of the ruin, and then I scream again, jerking forward a step.

“Snow!” Varric shouts, his voice tortured.

“Back!” I exclaim, feeling the energy build again. It explodes deafeningly, and I fly back, hitting the wall behind me hard. “Please,” I sob, senselessly praying.

“Suledin!” Dorian cries, rushing to me.

I scramble to my feet, and he helps me up delicately. I wipe my face with my right hand, desperation clawing through my throat. “We _have _to get to him first,” I say, running again.

I rush up the side of a rocky ruin, tripping over stairs that fell apart who-knows-how long ago. When I reach the top, I take a moment, gasping for air as I glance over the ruins.

It’s beautiful—undeniably astounding even in disarray. It must have been ethereal in its glory. Ancient elven architecture—it’s so old that I don’t even recognize the style. Waterfalls cascade into pools of water from several levels as the castle far away from us sits upon and inside a large mountain. I realize with a start that, in some ways, its resembles Skyhold—similar arches, but this is even more elegant. Eluvians glow all throughout the grounds below, as far, high, and low as I can see, different sections of the castle open. Wolf statues howl up at the sky, their forms proud and regal, and I wonder, tears flooding my eyes, if this once belonged to Solas and his people.

I take only a brief second to register all this, and then I run forward again, rushing to the eluvian across from me—the only place the Qunari could have gone.

Just before I reach it, someone comes barreling back through it. The Qunari’s shield hits me hard, and I fall to the ground clumsily, rolling to the side. Bull comes out of nowhere, a sound of pure rage pulled from him as he hits the Qunari so hard that the warrior trips backwards over the ledge and tumbles to the river far below. Bull helps me to my feet, his fingers deceivingly gentle, and I thank him breathlessly before moving through the eluvian.

We arrive at a gully deep in the valley. Whatever stone buildings were once here have long-since been reduced to rubble. The remnants of the structures are scattered thickly across the grass, providing only scarce paths. Another wolf statue gazes at us evenly from beside another eluvian, but several Qunari are waiting between us. Frustrated grief sweeps through me, and I want to scream in rage that we can’t go half a mile without an interruption.

“Crap,” Bull breathes.

I glance back at him, alarmed to see fear in his eye. I follow his gaze to the Viddasala, but the Qunari looming over her makes my eyes widen. He’s enormous, making the already tall woman beside him appear little over half his height. Thick chains are draped around the massive collar at his neck, running down his arms to his wrists. He stares at us blankly from behind a heavy helmet, his posture that of a waiting slave, chained and bound to serve the woman at his side.

“Saarebas,” Bull mutters.

The Viddasala shouts something to her men, and then she and her mage disappear through the eluvian behind them. The rest of the Qunari charge at us. A pike lunges towards me, and Bull catches it in midair, shocking me. He tosses it aside, preparing his war hammer. My hand flares again, and fear grips me when I realize it’s going to explode.

“Back!” I call. “Get back!” I run to the Qunari carelessly, working with my only option to make this doable. Bull shouts after me, but I ignore him, charging the Qunari as my arm glows. Several of them hesitate, their eyes widening as I run at them. The Anchor explodes just as I reach them, and I scream, certain that my arm must have been ripped off by one of their blades. Instead, I fly backwards, hitting the ground so hard that I roll several times. My arm quivers and shakes, and I can’t stop my tears from rolling. I look up hurriedly to see the Qunari stand a moment longer and then fall eerily to the ground. One of them manages a few steps, green energy spiking out from his eyes, before he, too, collapses.

Bull pulls me up by my right arm, and I break away swiftly, running to the next eluvian. I pass through it and come to a bridge. Several more Qunari rush at us, and I throw a weak fireball to a large wagon of gaatlok. I thrust out my arm, holding the others back when they pass through the eluvian, ducking in time for the bridge to explode loudly. Qunari shouts fade as they fall over the edge, and then I’m sprinting again, choosing my path as carefully as I can at such a quick pace. Bolts fly past me from behind at the few remaining Qunari, and Cole appears ahead to help clear the path.

We make it to the next eluvian at the end of the bridge, emerging at some sort of shrine. Wolf statues are all around, their postures friendly, their eyes wise.

“Saarebas!” I hear the Viddasala shout. “Meravas adim kata!”

I locate her in time to see her stare at us victoriously from above. 

“Boss!” Bull exclaims, and I realize far too late that it’s a warning.

Something lands heavily in front of me, shaking the ground and knocking me back with its force. I scramble backwards when I see the saarebas raise his hands, fire licking up his arms. He stares at me expressionlessly, his eyes black and uncaring. He throws a fireball at me the size of a boulder, and I roll out of the way, the heat scorching my back. He raises his hands, jerking them back, and suddenly we all tumble towards him, pulled in violently by some sort of gravitation. I feel the Anchor spewing energy and look to see it building again.

“Go, go, go!” I scream. The others scramble away from me, and I scream again, holding my hand out to the saarebas. The energy explodes agonizingly, green lightning shooting everywhere around me. A third scream is pulled hoarsely from me at the flames licking up my arm, and the saarebas roars in anger, slamming the ground with his fist. I trip backwards, but I look up to see that the Anchor managed to do some damage to the terrifying mage. Bull lunges forward, jumping off a boulder to slam his hammer against the saarebas’ shoulder. The mage reaches for Bull, narrowly missing as Dorian launches his own fireball at him.

The saarebas brings his hands to his chest, and Bull shouts a desperate warning, grabbing my left arm. He pulls me back so hard that I scream in agony, but he doesn’t dare stop, dragging me behind him, and that terrifies me. He pushes me behind a column, hugging me to him protectively in time for the whole field to explode in flames. Smoke burns through my eyes and lungs, and I realize my robes caught fire. I put them out quickly, and Bull pushes me out of the way again when a rock comes crashing over us. I feel my hand building up, terror gripping me.

“Throw me at him!” I cry out, gripping my wrist.

“Are you insane?” Bull demands.

“There’s no time!” I scream, my hand shaking. 

Bull unhappily grabs my right arm and tosses me to the saarebas. I land in time for my hand to explode, agony raking through me. I hear Cole shout somewhere, and I look back to see him holding his head, stumbling backwards as he bends over. At first I think the Anchor hit him, but then I realize it must be his empathic abilities torturing him. The saarebas roars again, staggering back a step. Bull lunges at him past me, his hammer cutting through the saarebas’ chest. Blood races down the mage’s torso, splattering against the ground. The saarebas roars again, pushing us all back powerfully. I hit the ground hard, crying out as Bull lands beside me. The saarebas reaches for his collar, and everything in me tightens when he rips it off.

“Oh shit,” Bull breathes, his voice terrified. He grabs me, pulling me behind himself.

The saarebas screams in rage and kicks off the ground. I expect him to land on us, but instead, he retreats.

“Saarebas!” the Viddasala shouts. I realize, breathlessly, that she saw the whole fight. “Meravas! _Meravas_!” She glares down at me in fury. “You will not leave here, Inquisitor! Antaam, ebrashok adim!” She turns around angrily and disappears through the next eluvian as a gate opens across from us. A dozen more warriors come out as my hand builds again.

“Throw me!” I shout.

“You can’t keep using that!” Bull argues. “You arm's gonna—”

“I’m not using it!” I cry. “It’s just going off—_throw me_!”

Bull gives a frustrated growl and picks me up, tossing me at the stairs. I stumble up the rest of the way, launching myself at the Qunari. I scream again as my hand ignites, and the sound deafens me once more when it explodes. I fall to the ground, weak and dizzy, but I scramble back to my feet, crawling up the stairs at first until I find my feet. I run across the bridge ahead of me, blowing up barrels of gaatlok to clear our path. Cole moves across the bridge ahead of me, and Bull charges forward, pushing off or outright killing the Qunari in our way. I run after them breathlessly, Dorian and Varric at my heels.

Another courtyard on the other side of the bridge reveals even more Qunari, and I want to roar in anger again. Instead, I focus my rage and my fear into my magic, lighting a fireball I know is too big for what little mana I have left. I launch it at the biggest group I can find and grunt when I feel it pull away from me sharply. It explodes on contact, eliminating most of the Qunari in its way. The rest are taken by Cole and Bull, moving swiftly ahead of me. Varric runs beside me, his crossbow ceaseless as he loads and fires automatically. Dorian shouts his spells, working as fast as he can. He raises one of the Qunari from the dead, and it launches itself into battle, distracting the other warriors.

My hand explodes again before I can reach a group of Qunari, and my own scream horrifies me. Bull wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me along when my legs fail. His strides takes us far fast, and Cole flits ahead of us, doing what he has to in order to clear the path as well as he can. Bull charges through the next eluvian, bursting through it so fast that I feel dizzy from the sudden change. He stops short when he sees the Viddasala waiting by an eluvian across from us.

“You are dead, Inquisitor,” she seethes. “Your soul is dust!”

She disappears through the next eluvian, in a hurry of her own now that we’re gaining. Bull runs forward again, but he jerks to a stop when the saarebas hits the ground in front of us. Fear grips me when it throws its chains at us, and Bull’s tension says everything I need to know about an unbound saarebas. Bull pulls us aside and sets me down carefully before lunging at the Qunari mage. I freeze one of the saarebas’ boots to the ground as Dorian’s raised Qunari launches itself into battle, too. Cole appears behind the saarebas, his blade thrusting deep. The mage roars loudly, bringing his arms in before pushing them back out powerfully. We all fly backwards from the blast, and Dorian cries out. I look anxiously to see his robes on fire, and I wave my arm at him, blowing the flames out as fast as they started. I get to my feet, running at the saarebas when I feel my hand building again. I grip my wrist, and another scream is pulled out of me.

The saarebas tries to hit me away, but the Anchor explodes first. The Qunari shouts wordlessly, and I realize in horror that his lips are sewn together under his helmet. A sound rumbles deep from his chest in pain and anger. He reaches for me, but Bull comes out of nowhere, bringing his hammer down, the blade end slicing through the saarebas’ arm. An ungodly roar echoes across the courtyard, and I jerk when the saarebas’ severed hand lands on my foot. Blood sprays Bull as he grabs the Qunari’s arm and slams his hammer against his chest. The mage falls backwards, bringing his hand down on a fist against the ground. We all fly backwards again; even the trees in the courtyard are wrenched from their roots at the force of the blast.

I scramble to my feet and run forward, thrusting my hand out. I cry out once more as the energy spikes. This time, my hand pulls me up off the ground, green light twisting through the air like lightning. Something horrible and terrifying reaches my ears—a jarring scream that I don’t recognize as my own at first. My hand quakes in midair, and I raise my right arm, ducking my face into it to shield myself.

The energy builds loudly until it explodes, more painful than ever before. Another unfamiliar screech is yanked from me at the agony. Cole screams behind me, his voice shrill as if he feels the pain, and I’m agonized at the thought that he might. Varric shouts something that I can’t hear. The saarebas roars and then hits the ground, unmoving. I collapse on the earth again, sobbing and clutching at my hand. Bull falls breathlessly beside me, his hand on my back as I cough and cry.

“What can we do?” he asks, his anxious voice facing from me as he directs the question to someone else.

“She’s dying!” Cole cries, his voice shaking.

“I don’t know!” Dorian answers Bull. “I-I don’t know what to do! Suledin!”

“We have to find Solas,” I whimper, dragging myself to my feet. Bull helps me, bending slightly to support me.

“He can help her,” Dorian agrees.

“I have to save him,” I murmur senselessly, my mind reeling slightly in exhaustion. “I have to…” I blink, my vision blurring. No, not now. Not yet. Just a little while longer, please. 

I pull away from Bull suddenly and run forward to the eluvian, terror gripping me.

“Boss, wait!” Bull exclaims—too late.

I burst through the next eluvian, and then I hear it close behind me. I whip around, pressing my hand to the darkened glass, panting as I realize that now, I’m completely alone.


	65. Blade of the Faith

I stare at the golden glass a moment longer and then turn around. Immediately, I gasp and jump back, raising a hand to defend myself from the blade aimed at me. I drop my hand when I see that the Qunari before me is unmoving. Stone has encompassed his form, freezing him in place with a magic entirely unfamiliar to me, just like the magic at the tower. I shake my head slightly; it feels like so long ago already.

Dozens of Qunari are frozen in the exact same way. I stare at them in shock. They all face the mirror, clearly about the kill whoever came through. One sword rests inches from my stomach, close to reaching its desired target, no doubt. My mind reels at the thought of a mage powerful enough to do this; I’ve never seen or heard of magic like this, not in all my studies in the last couple of years nor all my time with the Dalish.

I walk forward slowly through the frozen sea of bodies, staring at their weapons pulled back, ready to strike. Their eyes are unseeing; they appear as statues carved by the most elaborately skilled sculptor. They litter the field around the mirror, rows and rows of them ready to attack. Tears slip down my cheeks as I walk from the dulled ache in my hand. I feel tense, searching for the Viddasala when I instead hear another voice.

“Ebasit kata. Itwa-ost.”

Tears flood my eyes, and my heart stops when I hear him, his warm, familiar voice twisting through my chest and pulling at my memory. I look up sharply to see two silhouettes on a platform high above me. I see the Viddasala’s back, but before her, one arm pulled regally behind his back—

“Solas,” I cry, my voice breathy and pained.

I run through the rest of the Qunari, climbing up the flight of stairs as quickly as I can to reach him before he’s gone again.

“Maraas kata!” the Viddasala shouts, enraged.

I make it to the top, struggling through several dozen more Qunari statues, desperate to reach him and terrified that I won't make it in time.

“Your forces have failed,” Solas says calmly, his beautiful voice so welcome and familiar that it makes me cry more. “Leave now and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.”

I break through the last of the Qunari to see Solas’ back as he walks away slowly, his arms casually held behind his back—his usual stance. Its so achingly familiar that my eyes sting again. His armor is ancient elven, well-suited for him, and my eyes flood even more at the god I now see before me. How could I have ever been fooled into seeing otherwise? I always knew he was _more_. Elvhen, not elven.

The Viddasala gives a furious roar at his dismissal of her. She taps her spear against the ground and brings it back to hurl it at Solas. I take a breath to shout a warning, but before I can even make a sound, Solas comes to a stop, turning his head slightly. The Viddasala, in the blink of an eye, turns to stone, and awe rushes through me. It’s him—of course it was him. Guiding me all along.

My lips part as tears race down my cheeks. Unaware of my presence, Solas walks slowly to the massive eluvian before him. I jog forward to catch up to him, stopping a few feet back. My chest tightens as tears slip down my cheeks faster.

“Solas,” I gasp.

He stops immediately. He bows his head, his back still to me. “It is good to hear your voice, vhenan,” he murmurs. My chest constricts so hard it burns, and my throat aches. He turns around slowly, and my eyes flood when his meet mine, his expression soft and warm, even as his eyes are more sorrowful than ever.

I part my lips to speak again, but my hand flares, blinding me. I cry out in agony, falling to my knees. Solas moves to me quickly, hesitating before me, his hands still clasped behind his back. I look up at him, tears streaming down my face. His eyes flare with a brilliant, beautiful blue energy, and I gasp as my hand stills immediately, the pain fading away at once. Relief grips me powerfully, and more tears roll down my cheeks as my arm feels like it did before—normal, healthy, unmarred. A whispered sob breaks through me, and I rise to my feet slowly, breathing quickly.

“That should give us more time,” he murmurs. He smiles at me softly, and it breaks something in me. His eyes are so sad, and I see now the weight he carries on his shoulders—the weight he’s always carried. “I suspect you have questions.” His eyes fall to my waist as I stand before him, and his expression grows sadder when he sees his own necklace. His eyes meet mine again, regret burning through them.

“You’re Fen’Harel,” I breathe, my voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

He hesitates and then nods, his expression pained even as he offers another small smile. “Well done,” he murmurs. “I was Solas first. ‘Fen’Harel’ came later…an insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies…not unlike ‘Inquisitor,’ I suppose.” His expression grows so anguished that more tears slip down my cheeks. “And now you know…what is the old Dalish curse? ‘May the Dread Wolf take you?’”

I shake my head at the pain in his voice, stepping forward once. “Our legends about you are _wrong_. I saw the truth as we traveled the Crossroads. You—freed your people, protected them…saved them.”

“You saw another story,” he replies quietly, “written in desperation to give me more credit than I ever deserved.”

My chin trembles, and I fight for control. “You could have told me,” I whisper. “I would have understood.”

He looks down, closing his eyes. “Ir abelas, vhenan,” he murmurs softly, the word twisting through my chest again. “I did not want you to carry the same burden I do.”

“I _want _to,” I beg, stepping forward again. He takes half a step back, his expression anguished. “Ma ghilana, ma lath,” I plead.

“I cannot do that to you, vhenan,” he whispers. He steps away from me again and then turns to walk to the edge of the cliff. I follow him, wiping my eyes swiftly. He stares over the valley below. “I sought to set my people free from slavery to would-be gods. I broke the chains of all who wished to join me. The false gods called me Fen’Harel, and when they finally went too far, I forged the Veil and banished them forever. Thus, I freed the elven people,” he says, his voice low, “and in so doing, destroyed their world.”

“You love the Fade,” I whisper. “Why would you create the Veil to separate us?”

“Because every alternative was worse,” he answers quietly, his eyes scanning the ruins before him before he looks at me again.

“What do you mean?”

“Had I not created the Veil, the Evanuris would have destroyed the entire world.”

“Wait,” I murmur, hesitating. He looks at me again, waiting patiently. “You _banished _the false gods…you didn’t kill them?”

He smiles softly. “You met Mythal, did you not? The first of my people do not die so easily. The Evanuris are banished forever, paying the ultimate price for their misdeeds.”

“What did they do?”

“They killed Mythal.” He gives a bitter chuckle. “A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.”

My eyebrows draw together. “I thought she was part of the Evanuris.”

“She was the best of them,” he replies, his voice reverent. “She cared for her people. She protected them. She was a voice of reason.” His tone grows disdainful, an old hate stealing into his eyes. “And in their lust for power, they killed her.”

I look down, more tears rolling down my cheeks. “How did creating the Veil destroy the world?”

“You saw the remains of Vir Dirthara. The library was intrinsically tied to the Fade, and the Veil destroyed it. There were countless other marvels, all dependent on the presence of the Fade…all destroyed.” He finds my eyes again. “Your legends are half-right. We were immortal. It was not the arrival of the humans that caused us to begin aging.” His eyes fall to the valley again. “It was me. The Veil took everything from the elves,” he whispers, “even themselves.”

I raise my hand to my stomach, my chest aching with each breath. “I’m so sorry, Solas,” I whisper. “You’ve…suffered so much…had to endure so much.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. I don’t even know what to say. I breathe in sharply, looking at him in agony. “I learned that the Evanuris were elven mages. How did they come to be known as gods?”

“Slowly,” he answers, his voice low, his eyes far away. “It started with a war. War breeds fear. Fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Good and evil. Right and wrong. Chains of command. After the war ended, generals became respected elders, then kings, and finally gods. The Evanuris.”

I stare at Solas as he looks over the ruins, and it slowly sinks in that he was one of them. He fought in that war; he was a general, a king…a god.

“You’ve seen everything,” I whisper in awe. “From the beginning to…”

“Not everything,” he murmurs, turning back. I follow him as he returns slowly to the eluvian. “I lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed. I woke still weak a year before I joined you.” He finds my eyes, stopping. “My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down, but still some hope remains for restoration. I will save the elven people,” he says, before turning away from me. “Even if it means _this _world must die.”

I swallow, my heart stopping. I look at him as he stands with his back to me, his hands clutched tightly behind him. “Wh…why does this world have to die in order for the elves to return?”

He bows his head again. “A good question, vhenan, but not one I will answer. You have always shown a thoughtfulness I respected and admired. It would be too easy to tell you too much.”

He sounds resolute, his voice strong, but I see a slight hesitation, a quiet tremor he tries to ignore. He’s lost. It burns in me to see it.

“Let me help you, Solas,” I beg.

“I cannot do that to you, vhenan,” he repeats.

“But you would do it to yourself?” I demand, my voice raw with pain. “I cannot _bear _to think of you alone.”

“I walk the din’anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”

“_Please_, ma lath,” I cry. “Please, don’t do this. Not to yourself—you’ve suffered enough, lost enough. _Please_, Solas.”

“It is my fight,” he replies with difficulty, his shoulders low. He takes a moment before he stands tall again, turning to me with a new resolve. “You should be more concerned about the Inquisition—your Inquisition. In stopping the Dragon’s Breath, you have prevented an invasion by the Qunari forces. With luck, they will return their focus to Tevinter. That should give you a few years of relative peace.”

I raise my hand to my eyes, wiping my tears. Solas watches, his expression agonized. He tightens his arms behind his back, and I realize he has kept them there to resist reaching out to me.

I swallow thickly. “The Qunari said the Inquisition was unknowingly working for agents of Fen’Harel,” I breathe, clutching the wolf’s jawbone. His eyes fall to the gesture sadly before he finds mine again.

“I gave no orders,” he murmurs.

“You led us to Skyhold,” I reply softly.

“Corypheus should have died unlocking my orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos.”

I look up at him, tears blurring his face again. “You really _did _give it to him?” I breathe.

Solas looks down. “I had hoped you would forget seeing that.” He finds my eyes again. “I did not directly give him the orb. My agents allowed the Venatori to locate it.”

“Why?” I breathe, my tears falling still. He watches them, tortured but resolved.

“The orb had built up magical energy while I lay unconscious for millennia. I was not powerful enough to open it upon waking.”

“What was supposed to happen?” I wonder hesitantly.

Solas searches my eyes before answering. “The plan was for Corypheus to unlock it and for the resulting explosion to kill him. Then, I would claim the orb.” He looks down, shaking his head softly. “I did not foresee a Tevinter magister having learned the secret of effective immortality.”

I hesitate again. “What would have happened if he _had _died…and you’d recovered the orb?”

He looks up at me evenly. “I would have entered the Fade using the mark you now bear. Then, I would have torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of my time…the world of the elves.”

My chin trembles, and I tighten my fist on the jawbone, dropping my head briefly. “If you destroyed the Veil, wouldn’t the false gods be freed?”

He smiles faintly, the motion not reaching his eyes. “I had plans.”

I release a thick breath, my chest aching with every breath. “I never thought of you as someone who would do that, Solas.”

His eyes fall, his expression pained. “Thank you,” he whispers. He looks back up at me imploringly. “You must understand—I awoke in a world where the Veil had blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of Tranquil.”

The lump in my throat grows. “We aren’t even people to you?” I whisper.

“Not at first,” he admits. “_You _showed me I was wrong…again.” He drops his eyes. “That does not make what must come next any easier.”

I raise my left hand to my stomach, feeling weak and sick and unsteady. My right clutches the necklace so tight that it bites into me. “Why did you give us Skyhold?” I wonder.

“When you survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope this world had of stopping Corypheus. And you needed a home.”

I look down, struggling to breathe. “Whatever your reasons, we couldn’t have defeated Corypheus without you. I would have died, countless times…So, thank you, Solas.”

His expression softens. “Do not thank me, vhenan. Your doubts are misplaced. Everything you accomplished, you earned.”

I close my eyes briefly, my head pounding. “What did you mean I should be concerned about the Inquisition? What’s wrong with it?”

“You created a powerful organization, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such: betrayal and corruption.”

“It…can’t be that simple,” I say, my voice pleading.

He gives me a sad look. “Do you know how I discovered the Qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep?”

“No,” I breathe.

“The Qunari’s spies in the Inquisition tripped over _my _spies in the Inquisition.” I close my eyes. “The elven guard who led you to the Qunari body, who intercepted the servant with the gaatlok barrel? Mine.”

“I…I don’t understand,” I admit thickly. “Why bother disrupting the Qunari plot if you’re going to destroy the world regardless?”

His expression grows almost hurt. “You have shown me that there is value in this world, vhenan. I take no joy in what I must do. Until that day comes, I would see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun.”

“Why?” I ask weakly.

“Because I am not a monster,” he whispers. “If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort.” He looks away. “In any event, it is done.”

I close my eyes again. “Thank you for guiding us. I…didn’t know.”

“I hope it gives your people some final peace,” he offers quietly.

I glance behind him, gesturing once. “You control the eluvians now?”

“Yes,” he replies. “You remember Briala from Halamshiral? For a time, she controlled part of the labyrinth. One of my agents was supposed to take it from her, but he did not succeed. I had to override the magic personally. The Qunari stumbled upon this section independently. With them gone, the eluvians are now mine.”

I feel dizzy and weak, my head pounding and my chest aching. I look up at him, searching his eyes desperately. “Is there anything I can do?” I whisper, my voice begging. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind, to make you stay?”

“Yes,” he admits softly, his eyes so sad that it hurts me to see. “I suspect you are the only person who could, and I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, vhenan.”

A whispered sob escapes me, and I feel like curling in on myself. I weaken, bending forward slightly, and Solas watches me in agony.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispers. “I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you.”

I close my eyes tightly, breathing raggedly. Something constricts around my heart, and I can’t breathe for a moment. “Solas,” I gasp, meeting his eyes again. His arms loosen, his expression tortured, but before he can reach out to me, he pulls his arms behind his back again. I shake my head, struggling to focus. “There’s…The Anchor is getting worse,” I whisper, feeling the ache quietly return to my bones.

“I know, vhenan,” he murmurs quietly. “And we are out of time.”

My eyes widen when a flare of pain lances up my arm. I cry out, falling to my knees as I grip my wrist. Green energy streaks across my skin, spiking like lightning, wild and untamable.

“The mark would eventually kill you,” Solas says, kneeling down before me, his voice tight. “Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you.”

I look up at him in desperation, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I won’t give up on you, Solas,” I cry, shaking. “Var lath vir suledin.”

His expression falls, and I see past his façade to the well of pain within him, so stark, so powerful that it makes me cry even more. 

“I wish it could, vhenan,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

I cry out again, pain seizing my arm with fire and glass, and Solas looks tortured, his eyes brimming.

“My love,” he gasps, moving his hand to my cheek. I look up into his eyes as he moves closer to me, his agony plain to see. His other hand wraps around my left arm above the elbow, his fingers gripping my skin securely. He moves his head to mine, his eyes flaring a brilliant blue before he closes them. I hold my breath, waiting. He presses his lips to mine softly, his kiss sweet and tender, and it aches within me in a staggering wave. I kiss him back, crying against him as blue energy flares behind my eyelids. My arm grows numb as his lips pull away gently. He rests his forehead again mine, the motion so familiar that it makes me weak. “I will never forget you,” he whispers, his voice raw.

He pulls away, standing, and his warmth disappears from me, leaving me cold. I open my eyes to see him walking away again, his arms folding behind his back, his shoulders low.

“Solas,” I cry. “Please—please don’t go—please don’t do this!”

He bows his head, walking slowly to the eluvian. “Ir abelas, vhenan.”

“Solas,” I sob. “Please—I’m _begging_ you—don’t do this—don’t leave again—please—”

I hear a small, agonized breath slip through his teeth, his posture weakening, but he doesn’t dare look back. I cry his name again as he passes through the eluvian, and then glowing magic fades to simple glass.

A sob bursts from me unrestrained, and I double over, pressing my forehead to the ground. My arm glows with a mix of blue and green energy, clashing and fighting, but I don’t feel a thing as I cry. My chest constricts so tight it aches, and I claw at my ribs, desperate for reprieve. I glance at my arm to see it shine a brilliant blue before it slowly fades away. My fingertips disappear, blue energy slipping up past my fingers slowly. In a blink, my fingers are gone, and then my hand and my wrist. Like brilliant blue ashes, bone, muscle, and skin evaporate into the air, fading away from me forever. I sit up to look at my arm, sobs bursting from me breathlessly, and the green and blue energy suddenly fade away, leaving me with nothing. My arm is smoothed under my elbow, the rest of my arm gone—and with it, the pain from the mark.

I press my only hand to my stomach, gripping the jawbone so hard it hurts again as I cry, my breaths gasping and ragged. I stare in agony at the closed eluvian, sobs shaking me violently.

“Suledin!”

“Snow!”

I recognize their voices, but I can’t turn around. Dorian drops before me, panicked.

“What happened?” he exclaims, reaching for my left arm. He holds up the stump of what’s left, gaping at me. “What—”

“What happened to your arm, Snow?” Varric demands, pressing his hand to my shoulder. “What _happened_?!”

I fall against Dorian, weeping as he wraps his arms around me.

“Boss, did—did you find Solas?” Bull asks, dropping to my other side. “Did—did he _do _this to you?”

“It hurts,” Cole whimpers behind me. “She hurts.”

“Suledin,” Dorian begs over my sobs. “_What happened_?!”

***

I walk through the first door into the darkened hallway. I can hear them fighting from here as I approach the summit, a thick book tucked under my right arm. My left sleeve is buttoned to the shoulder, and I keep my arm close to my side as I go.

“...Inquisition did not _cause _this threat!” I hear Josie fight back. “We _informed _the summit of the danger—”

“The danger posed by Qunari spies inside _your _organization!” Teagan exclaims.

Orlesian guards open the doors for me swiftly, and I storm into the Exalted Council, drawing everyone’s attention. Cullen stands up in the crowd in shock when he sees me, but I keep my attention focused on the summit.

Cass glares at Teagan. “Without _our _organization, none of us would be here to complain.”

Teagan gives an impatient sigh. “No one has forgotten what you have done. But Corypheus is _two years _dead!”

Duke Montfort waves his hand. “If the Inquisition is to continue, it must do so as a legitimate organization, not a glorified mercenary band.”

“Inquisitor?” Josie gasps, standing noisily, the chair beneath her sliding across the ground loud enough to draw the others’ attention. She stares at my arm, gaping. “What—what happened to you?”

I glare up at Teagan and Montfort, holding the book up high enough for everyone to see. “You all know what this is,” I call, my voice deep and angry. “A writ, from Divine Justinia, authorizing the formation of the Inquisition. We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order, with or without anyone’s approval.” Cassandra smiles and inclines her head towards me, recognizing the words she used to begin the Inquisition. I give her a soft look before turning my glare to the other two. “It wasn’t a ‘formally authorized’ treaty that saved Ferelden’s people. It wasn't ‘careful diplomacy’ that ended your _inane _civil war—it was never about the organization. It was about people _doing _what was _necessary_.” I extend the book and let it drop to the floor with a loud crash. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a world to save. Again.” I turn around and storm back down the alley, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.”

The room erupts into chaos, everyone standing and talking and gasping. Cullen tries to fight through the crowd to reach me, but he gets stuck behind several nobles. Bull leans against the wall, and I catch his eye. He winks and me, giving a quiet nod as he crosses his arms. I keep my head up high, feeling Josie and Cass stare at me as I go. I know I should have told them, but there wasn’t time, and I wanted it done before I changed my mind.

I storm through the doors again, walking down the hallway briskly. When I reach the outer door, I wrench it open and close it firmly. In the privacy of the hall, I lean back against the door, closing my eyes and sighing quietly, my heart hammering in my chest. I take a moment and then walk forward again, ignoring the flutter in my stomach and the nagging in my mind.

***

I smile as I watch Dorian and Bull laugh quietly together, and I walk to them slowly, realizing they were all waiting for me. Everyone is here, gathered as they eat and drink and toast. Bull pats my back as I arrive, and Varric gives me a warm smile. Cass brushes my shoulder gently, and Dorian offers a radiant grin. I come to a stop beside Cullen, and he turns, offering a warm smile and a half-bow, both of which I return.

The others carry on, and I listen to them, an aching sadness pulling at me even as I try to enjoy the evening, because I know it will be the last that we’re all together like this.

The sun sets slowly behind the mountains of Halamshiral, bathing the balcony in a beautiful golden light. Varric falls into a chair beside Cass and hands her a book. She grins privately, laughing softly as she studies the cover, running her fingers across the letters. She looks up at him, smiling again as she thanks him, opening the book to read the first page. He watches her with a smirk and then settles back, filling his glass from a decanter of wine.

Dorian and Bull sit together, talking loudly over the rest. Cullen and Leliana are arguing half-heartedly about something, but they both wind up laughing before they reach a resolution. Thom and Josie talk privately, the blush high in her cheeks as she ducks her head, tucking locks of hair behind her ears while Thom smiles admiringly. Sera plays dangerously with a small cake, and I wonder idly if she intends to throw it, and who she might aim for. Cole perches on my chair beside me, watching the others happily.

As the evening draws to a close, people begin to drift away. Dorian is the first to depart, claiming he has a long journey ahead of him in the morning. He comes to me, smiling radiantly as he kisses my cheek. He winks, wiggling his sending crystal to remind me that we’ll still keep in contact. Tears flood my eyes even still, and he kisses my cheek again, hugging me tightly before he leaves.

Thom goes next, patting my shoulder with a warm smile before he heads to bed. Josie and Leliana turn in, both of them reminding me of the early call in the morning. She, Cullen, Bull, and I are returning to Skyhold first thing, departing with all the soldiers who, come next week, will be sent home with honors and accommodations to return to ordinary life.

One by one, they drift away until I’m left alone on the balcony. I stare out over the clouds in the night sky, catching the delicate glimmer of the scar left in the Breach’s wake. I move my hand over the wolf’s jawbone necklace, breathing out slowly as I stare down at the valley below.

***

I lean across the desk, moving a candle closer to the map to see better. Droplets of water fall from the bars high above, landing on the table and maps in small rings, spotting the pages. The door opens slowly, and I glance up, standing as Leliana joins us. Harding and Cass look back at her expectantly as she closes the door again. She strides over to us, pulling her hood down.

“My agents found nothing,” she announces. I sigh, but I wasn’t expecting any different. “With the eluvians, he could be anywhere.”

Cass sighs, too. “With the Inquisition officially disbanded, we have no army, no formal alliances…”

“We also have no hostile spies, no threat of corruption,” Harding points out, shifting her weight as she moves her arms behind her back.

“We have what we truly need,” Leliana replies in agreement, studying the map.

Cass offers a second sigh. “We will need to be careful.”

I smirk at her, gesturing to my severed left arm. “We’re _always _careful.”

She frowns at me. “That is not funny.”

Leliana looks up at me. “Solas knows everything about us—who we are, how we work, our strengths, our weaknesses…”

“Then we find people he _doesn’t _know,” I reply simply, looking up at them. “_This _is the Inquisition. Right here, right now. It began with you two,” I say, appraising Leliana and Cass. “The four of us is all we need. It’s safer this way; more secure. It may take us longer, but we _will _find him, and we will save him from himself.” I look down at the map, letting my fingers trail against the letters of the Tevinter Imperium before locating the right city. “Here,” I murmur, tapping its name lightly.

“We have a lot of work to get done in so little time,” Cass murmurs, frowning.

I smirk at her. “Then we’d better get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so, SO much for reading and for all your comments, kudos, praise, and support!! 💕 It truly means the world to me, and I am so delighted to have shared this with you! I hope you enjoyed it!! 😊💕


End file.
